Chapter 3: Chords of Deception

  Somewhat Poor Benefits

  The tension of battle began to ebb as the group lingered in the basement. Magnus was the first to break the silence. “I don’t know how loud we’ve been, but Theo is still upstairs. I can’t imagine he’s still asleep, but does anyone have any rope?”

  Sylvi shot him a look. “To tie him up?”

  “I have rope,” Ashen said bluntly.

  “I think we should question him, see what he knows,” Magnus suggested.

  Sylvi raised an eyebrow, her expression flat. “You think the sleeping guard has meaningful information to offer?” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “I say we just leave him here.”

  “We’ll see what we can get out of him,” Ashen said, brushing past Magnus as he started toward the murky water. He climbed the ladder and disappeared from view. By the time Magnus followed, Ashen had already tied Theo’s arms and legs, pinning them to his sides. As the guard began to stir, he looked around, startled.

  “What? Wha—what’s going on? I thought yous were my friends! Why are you tying me up?” Theo’s voice cracked with alarm.

  “What do you mean tying you up? We just found you sleeping! You must’ve been dreaming,” Magnus replied quickly, adopting an overly friendly tone. “Theo! You’re alright, you’re with friends, remember? I don’t know who tied you up and left you like this, but they must’ve been awful. Thank goodness we’re here!”

  Somehow, impossibly, the ruse seemed to work. Theo’s face lit up with relief. “Oh, thank goodness my friends are here! Are you going to untie me?”

  “Well, first we have to ask you some questions,” Magnus said, improvising. “Actually, the … uh, Humane Ethical Resources division of our organization asked me to check in on you. And it looks like I arrived just in time—what poor treatment you’ve endured!”

  “H-E-R?” Theo asked, his face scrunched in confusion.

  “Yes, H.E.R.!” Magnus said with enthusiasm. “We even have benefits. Vacation days, too. But, unfortunately, I hear you won’t be able to take any due to … recent staff losses.”

  Theo blinked. “We have an HR department?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

  “Yes!” Magnus exclaimed. “Anyway, how did the summoning go?”

  “Oh, it went perfectly,” Theo replied. Then his gaze shifted to the baby in Sylvi’s arms, and his expression darkened. “But wait—you didn’t sacrifice the baby!”

  Magnus waved off the concern. “Oh, this baby? Different baby entirely. We’ve been tasked with bringing this one out safely. Very routine.”

  Sylvi interjected, “Ask him about the ritual.”

  Magnus tilted his head. “The summoning ritual? You mean the one that summoned the shadow beasts? It went swimmingly!”

  Theo’s brow furrowed. “I’ve only been here two days. They told me I’d find brotherhood…”

  Magnus seized the opportunity. “Oh, and we know. But H.E.R. has informed me that, regrettably, you’re fired. We’ll be needing your robes and personal effects.”

  “And gold,” Kaeric added flatly.

  “Fired?” Theo sputtered. “I’m tied up, I’m fired, and now you’re saying I’m not getting back pay?”

  Magnus sighed, searching Theo’s pockets. “Look, Theo, you’re fired, and we’re leaving you here for H.E.R. to find. Good luck.”

  As Ashen headed for the door, Sylvi followed. Kaeric, however, paused. “I’m taking the robe,” he said.

  “My robe? But I’m naked under my robe!” Theo’s indignant cry was cut off by the door slamming shut behind them.

  Practical Solutions

  The group emerged onto the road where the overturned carriage still lay. The woman inside screamed frantically, clutching at the window. Ashen climbed to the passenger side, pulling her out and lowering her to the muddy ground.

  “Where’s my baby? Did you find my baby?” she cried.

  Sylvi stepped forward, handing the child to its mother. The woman held the baby tightly, her tears streaming freely. Meanwhile, the group gathered a short distance away to discuss their next move.

  “What are we going to do with her?” Ashen asked.

  “She can come with us in the cart if she’s headed to Havenford,” Sylvi suggested.

  “Or we could send her on her way with a horse,” Ashen countered.

  “What would it take to right the carriage?” Magnus asked.

  “We don’t need the carriage. She has a horse,” Ashen said.

  “With some rope and the horses, we could probably get it upright and send her on her way,” Magnus offered. “You do have rope, right, Ashen?”

  Ashen glanced back toward the swamp, realization dawning. “I did.”

  Kaeric held up the stolen rope and robe.

  “You let him go?” Sylvi asked.

  “I wanted the robe,” Kaeric replied.

  Sylvi sighed heavily. “Well, we’ve got rope,” Magnus said. “Berf, can you help us tie the horses to the carriage and flip it upright?”

  Berf tilted his head. “Speak plainly.”

  Magnus groaned. “Tie the rope to the carriage and the horses so we can pull it upright.”

  “Fine, fine. Berf does all the work,” the farmer muttered, begrudgingly setting to the task. Within minutes, the carriage was upright and tied to two of the horses.

  As they worked, Ashen approached the woman. “What happened before we arrived?” he asked.

  Her voice quavered. “My husband and I were on our way to Slynn on merchant business with Sir Lauress escorting us. Then, out of nowhere, men in cloaks attacked. An oily black beast killed my husband. One of the men grabbed my baby, and Sir Lauress tried to fight them off…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes suddenly locking on Ashen’s half-plate armor.

  “Sir Lauress is dead,” Ashen said bluntly.

  Her eyes widened in horror, and she recoiled. “You looted him?” she whispered.

  Ashen’s tone was sharp. “Yes. He wasn’t using it, and we just saved your baby from six cultists. You’re welcome.”

  Her wailing pierced the swamp air as she clutched her baby tighter.

  “Berf! Load the bodies. We need to move,” Ashen barked. Without hesitation, Berf heaved the guards’ corpses and the woman’s husband into the carriage before climbing to the driver’s seat.

  As the cart trudged through the swamp, Magnus sat in the back, poring over the grimoire. The entries grew darker and more obsessive as they progressed, the notes scrawled in fevered handwriting. One section detailed a multi-bound summoning ritual requiring four artifacts:

  Kaelthar, the Emberthorn – The Black Mirror

  Lysara, the Veil of Ash – The Embered Crown

  Drenmar, the Blighted Pyre – The Heart of Shadow

  Seraphine Nightshade – Eye of Zarathrax

  Magnus’s brow furrowed as he deciphered the spells, including one for Darkness and another, Shadowblade, that was unfamiliar to him. He resolved to consult someone more knowledgeable or, perhaps unwisely, test it himself.

  Night fell, and Sylvi and Kaeric took over for Ashen and Berf. Magnus shared his findings from the grimoire before exhaustion overcame him, and he drifted to sleep. The road ahead would demand even more of them before their journey ended.

  Approaching Havenford

  Magnus was jolted awake as the cart hit a bump on the now rocky road. The grey light of pre-dawn crept over the horizon, painting the landscape in muted tones. Sylvi still drove the cart, and as he looked to the right, he could see where the land abruptly ended in a cliff about a mile away. Beyond it, the ocean stretched into the distance, its vastness a quiet reminder of the world’s enormity. He breathed in the refreshing chill of the morning, savoring the brief moment of peace.

  Up ahead, two carts were parked on either side of the road, and four men blocked the path, signaling for them to stop. Magnus nudged Ashen awake.

  “Hey, we may have trouble. Highwaymen up ahead… or guards. Either way, we might need you ready,” he said.

  Ashen grunted, barely opening his eyes. “You’re the talker. Talk,” he replied before turning over to sleep again.

  Sylvi slowed the horses as the burly man in the center of the road lifted his head and shouted, “You best stop your horses on this road.”

  His arms were crossed, and two of the men beside him rested their hands near their belts, a cautious gesture that hinted at the threat of weapons.

  “What do you want?” Sylvi called out.

  “You have to pay the toll to pass on this road,” the man barked back.

  “Says who?” Sylvi retorted, her voice sharp.

  “By order of the king,” he said, a smug grin creeping across his face. “And don’t get mouthy.”

  Magnus climbed out of the cart and strode to the front. “There is no king of Havenford. We’re here by order of Lord Allistair Griffin of Greymoor, and you’ll need to step aside,” he said firmly.

  The burly man’s grin turned into a sneer. “We’ll be takin’ a toll one way or the other,” he growled.

  Magnus’s hand moved subtly to one of his daggers. “By all means, take a look at the three dead bodies in the carriage and decide how far you’re willing to go for your toll,” he said, his tone icy.

  Before the man could respond, the woman in the cart spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension. “I am Lady Valencia Americ, wife of the former Lord Edgar Amerik of the Merchant’s Guild, and you will immediately let us pass.”

  Her words carried an authority that made the men falter. Three of them scrambled back to their carts, visibly shaken. The burly man hesitated, then began bowing and backing away.

  “Oh, Lady Americ, we’re sorry, missus. We had no idea. We’re just simple men tryin’ to earn an honest livin’. We mean no harm,” he stammered as he stepped aside to clear the path.

  “We’ll be coming back in a few days. If we see this blockade again, you’ll regret it,” Magnus said, climbing back into the cart and exchanging seats with Kaeric to sit next to Lady Americ.

  As the cart rolled on, Magnus introduced the woman to their group, weaving the tale of Greymoor’s Blight. He carefully left out certain details about the amulet but tried to put her at ease by recounting their adventures.

  An hour later, Berf called out, “You need to rest the horses, or you’ll ride them to death.”

  “How much farther do we have?” Sylvi asked.

  Berf shrugged. “Don’t know, missus. Never been to Havenford. But I don’t see a city.”

  “It’s… it’s half a day’s ride,” Lady Americ said, her voice trembling. “Half a day until I return to my Edgar.” She broke down into sobs, clutching her baby.

  “You need to stop the horses for a couple of hours. Just pull over by the side of the road, and we’ll set off again after a rest,” Berf suggested. They followed his advice, pulling the cart to the side of the road. Berf stretched out under the cart for some sleep, and Ashen tried to continue sleeping inside it. Magnus sat on the edge, feet dangling, idly strumming his mandolin as Sylvi and Kaeric conversed with Lady Americ.

  “What were you doing heading to Slynn?” Kaeric asked.

  “My husband served… served Lord Caldrin Marroweave, the representative of the merchant guilds to the High Council,” she said, her voice faltering. “He was headed to Slynn with Sir Lauress to broker a deal. Sir Lauress, a member of the Golden Hand, was our primary protection.”

  “The Merchant Guild?” Magnus asked, his interest piqued. “Do you know the former Lord Kaelen Thorne?”

  “My husband had dinner with him once, but I don’t believe they did business. He found Kaelen untrustworthy,” she replied.

  “Untrustworthy?” Magnus scoffed. “Kaelen is a manipulative, vengeful hypocrite. Right proper asshole.”

  “Well, yes. My husband thought him to be… a snake-oil salesman,” she said delicately.

  “Who else do you know? Who should we talk to?” Kaeric pressed.

  “Do I know?” she asked, confused.

  “On the council,” he clarified.

  She listed off names, including Veylon Crestwarden, the High Templar and religious representative.

  “Introduce us to Crestwarden,” Kaeric said bluntly.

  Lady Americ recoiled. “I am on my way to prepare for my husband’s wake, and you want me to arrange introductions for you? The audacity!”

  “I’m sorry about your husband,” Kaeric said flatly. “But we did save your baby. Will Crestwarden be at the wake?”

  Her face twisted in shock and disbelief.

  Magnus interjected smoothly, “Lady Americ, you’ve been through an ordeal, and I’m sure everything seems strange and awful right now. But in a few days, I promise, this will all feel entirely normal.” He turned to Berf. “Berf, take Lady Amerik back to her carriage and drive it for her for the last leg of the journey.”

  As the sun dipped low on the horizon, Havenford finally came into view.

  The Port of Legends

  As the party crested the final hill of the winding coastal road, the sprawling port city of Havenford came into view, nestled against the glimmering expanse of the Sapphire Coast. The late afternoon sun bathed the city in golden light, reflecting off the white-capped waves of the bay and the brightly painted sails of dozens of ships bobbing in the harbor. The air felt alive with the distant hum of activity: the ringing of shipyard hammers, the shouts of sailors unloading cargo, and the faint, melodic trill of a bard performing on the docks.

  From their vantage point, Havenford revealed itself as a city of vibrant contrasts. The towering masts of merchant galleons rose like a forest above the bustling Dockside District, where cranes creaked and seagulls swooped in search of scraps. The colorful awnings and stalls of Merchant’s Row stretched into the heart of the city, creating a patchwork of hues against the cobbled streets. Further inland, the sleek spires of the Arcane District shimmered faintly with magical wards, while the gilded roofs of the Noble Quarter glinted like tiny beacons, promising wealth and refinement. The road ahead dipped into the Grand Gate of Havenford, an arched structure flanked by statues of a robed figure holding a compass and a ship’s wheel, symbolizing the city’s dedication to exploration and trade.

  The salty sea air mingled with the aromas of roasting meats and spiced wine wafting from roadside markets outside the city walls. Merchants, travelers, and adventurers jostled for space along the road, some shouting prices for wares while others bartered or swapped stories of distant lands. As the group approached the gates, the energy of Havenford washed over them—a tantalizing promise of new opportunities, hidden secrets, and uncharted paths. Havenford was a place where fortunes were made, reputations were forged, and legends began.

  As night began to fall, the lighthouse’s beacon embered to life, casting a warm glow that cut through the deepening shadows. Lights glittered from windows and ships throughout the city, creating a patchwork of flickering illumination. The cart approached the city walls, where two guards stepped forward to address them.

  “Lady Americ,” one guard said, his tone formal but curious. “You seem to be keeping interesting company. And where is your husband?”

  Lady Amerik, her demeanor drained of emotion, replied evenly, “I’m sure official word will arrive shortly regarding the late Lord Amerik.”

  The guard’s expression softened. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said before stepping aside to let them pass.

  Ashen turned to Lady Americ. “Where should we bring you?”

  She indicated the direction of the Merchant District, and the group moved deeper into the city. The streets grew livelier as they passed rows of shouting merchants vying for attention, each extolling the virtues of their wares. A pair of dwarves argued loudly over the price of a massive fish, while a group of orcs grunted and laughed as they jostled through the crowd. Magnus caught the eye of a Tabaxi street vendor selling sausages, purchased six, and handed them out to the group.

  As they progressed, the Merchant District’s character shifted notably from the bustling market center. The buildings became more ornate, with intricate facades and polished signs. The atmosphere exuded wealth and sophistication. There were no street carts or makeshift stands here; instead, fine shops lined the streets, their displays offering luxury goods and high-quality merchandise. Pedestrians dressed in formal attire strolled along, some seemingly out more to be seen than to conduct any real business.

  Finally, the group arrived at the Merchant Guild Hall. Lady Americ stepped down from the carriage and approached the guards at the entrance. After a brief exchange, one guard walked over to them.

  “Bring the horses and carriage around to the back and into the stables. We’ll unload the bodies there,” he instructed.

  Berf took the reins, guiding the cart around the grand building. As they reached the stables, his jaw dropped in awe.

  “This. Is. Heaven!” Berf exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder as he took in the sight of the massive stables. Two long rows of stalls stretched out, each with eight stalls on either side, for a total of thirty-two spacious, pristine enclosures. Each was large enough to accommodate a cart or carriage, and the entire space was immaculately maintained.

  A guard greeted them at the stable door, gesturing them inside.

  “You go on,” Berf said, grinning from ear to ear. “I gots stable things to do.” With that, he eagerly turned to brush the horses, his joy palpable.

  All Business... and a Little Bit of Gold

  The guard led the party through a series of halls with rooms on either side. Within these chambers, various merchants sat at desks, either negotiating trade deals or poring over notes. The group followed him through the winding corridors until they returned to the central foyer, where a rotund man in ornate, gold-gilded robes awaited them.

  “Lord Caldrin Marroweave, I assume,” Ashen said, recalling what Lady Americ had said about the leader of the Merchant Guild.

  “Quite right. Well, come on then. Why are you here?” Marroweave demanded brusquely.

  “Lord Marroweave, allow me to introduce myself. I am Magnus; this is Sylvi, Kaeric, and Ashen. We’ve traveled here from Greymoor under the orders of Lord Allistair Griffin, and—” Magnus began.

  “Lord Allistair Griffin, you say? Do you have any proof of that?” Marroweave interrupted.

  Magnus retrieved the writ and recommendation from Lord Griffin and handed it over. “Ah, yes. Here it is.”

  Marroweave glanced at the document with mild interest. “Indeed. I presumed he’d died—he hasn’t been seen in years, just holed up in that castle of his.”

  “Well, yes, he remains inside almost exclusively,” Magnus continued, “but while traveling through the swamp, we came upon an overturned carriage. Lady Americ’s baby had been stolen by cultists who murdered her husband. We—”

  “I don’t have all day,” Marroweave interrupted again, his tone gruff. “I don’t make money by wasting time.”

  Magnus paused, then picked up exactly where he’d left off. “We followed the cultists, rescued the baby, but unfortunately, we weren’t in time to save Sir Lauress of the Golden Hand.”

  “Right, well, a debt owed for saving the baby. What can I do for you?” Marroweave asked impatiently.

  “We’re here to gather information about the cult and an artifact. We thought we might—” Magnus began.

  “Paaaper!” Marroweave shouted, cutting him off. A tall man stepped forward with a sheet of paper and a quill, stooping low to let Marroweave write. The guild leader scribbled something onto the sheet before stamping it with a self-inking ring. “Take this to the Grand Hall of Lore. It will grant you access to the restricted section of the library. You might find what you need there.”

  Magnus nodded but attempted to ask another question. Before he could, Ashen interjected. “Who would you consider to be the best purveyor of magical goods in the city? Who would you recommend?”

  “The Twisted Wand,” Marroweave answered tersely.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Can you tell us where to find it?” Ashen pressed.

  “Paaaper!” Marroweave barked again. The tall assistant produced another sheet, and Marroweave scribbled on it before handing it over. “Twisted Wand, B-52,” he said flatly.

  “What’s B-52?” Ashen asked.

  “All the stalls are indexed by location. B-52 is its address. It’s on the way to the Hall of Lore,” Marroweave explained.

  “If you’ve ever been to a dwarven mall, it’s like one of their directories,” Magnus added, attempting to clarify. “Shops labeled with a grid and—”

  “Do you know where we could find dwarven mustard?” Kaeric interrupted, catching everyone off guard. The entire group turned to stare at him.

  “Mustard?” Marroweave repeated, his confusion evident.

  “Dwarven. Mustard,” Kaeric repeated firmly.

  “Anywhere that sells sausages will have mustard,” Marroweave replied, clearly baffled.

  “And where are the best sausages?” Kaeric pressed further.

  Marroweave sighed heavily. “Of all the things to ask of me in these halls, and you want sausages. Fine. Poppy’s, west end of the city.”

  “Well, as long as we’re asking,” Magnus added, “we’ll need a place to stay while in the city.”

  Marroweave sneered. “You asked for information, and I’ve given you three answers, which is more than fair for saving the baby.”

  “What?” Sylvi exclaimed. “We risked our lives! Kaeric nearly died trying to save that baby.”

  “And the lady!” Kaeric added indignantly.

  Marroweave flashed a cold, golden smile. “You don’t get very high in this world without being greedy, little lady.”

  “And you think Lady Americ will be pleased with the ‘reward’ you’ve given for the safe return of her child?” Magnus said, his tone sharp.

  “She’s of no use to me without her husband,” Marroweave replied bluntly. “I do need to return to business.” With that, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving the party fuming.

  As they were led back to the stables, Magnus made sure to drag his muddy boots across every inch of the ornate rugs lining the hallway.

  Dwarven Mustard

  Kaeric set off on his way to the Poppy’s leaving us to go toward the Twisted Wand. He passed various stores and carts as he did. He finally got to a cart with a sign, “Poppy’s Succulent Sausages”.

  “Are you Poppy?” he asked, looking at the stout older woman standing behind the counter. Dried sausages and various meats hung behind her as she hurried to cook more fresh sausages. The smell of seasonings and oil and just a hint of– something that Kaeric couldn’t place was coming from her flat griddle.

  “Yes,” she smiled. “I’m Poppy. What can I do for you?”

  “Do you have dwarven mustard?” he asked.

  “Well of course I have dwarven mustard. I have all of these delicious sausages. What can I get you?” she asked again happily.

  “I need six sausages, onions, pickled peppers, sauerkraut, kosher salt, cumin, paprika, and sour cream,” he said, looking at her expectantly.

  “What’s sour cream?” she asked as she tried to mentally track what he was saying.

  “And do any of these ingredients come from the Cumavera region?” he asked intensely.

  “Uhm, well. The onions, peppers, and sauerkraut are all locally raised on farms within a day of the city. The sausages and dried meat are made by me. And I have no idea what the rest of those things are,” she said.

  “That’s fine, does …”, he thought for a moment about the list of names Lady Americk had given them. “Master Bralin get his sausages here?” Master Bralin Ironwake was the Shipwright and Harbormaster for the Port of Havenford.

  “Why, everybody buys sausages from Poppy’s,” she said joyously.

  “What’s his order?” he asked.

  “Oh well, Master Bralin orders a sausage with mustard slathered all over it,” she returned.

  “Then one of those,” he said and smiled, giving her the coins to pay her. She packaged up his food. “Oh and before I go, where does he live? Is that in the direction of–,” trying to remember the name of the magic store,” the Whimsical Wonders magic store?”

  “Oh well he’s down at the port but the Whimsical Wonders? I think of heard of that? it’s down that direction,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. He considered for a moment, then began walking toward the port.

  The Twisted Wand

  As Kaeric headed off to pick up sausages, Ashen,Sylvi and Magnus headed towards the Twisted Wand, leaving Berf to tend the horses. Magnus waited outside telling stories to passersby with his hat out for coin as the others went inside.

  A tiny set of bells jingled as Ashen and Sylvi stepped inside the cluttered store of the Twisted Wand. The walls were lined with magical items in what can only be called disarray. Random daggers with fire damage lay next to gloves of ice. An Always Wet towel sat next to fish bowl that never needed cleaning. Various odds and ends of little value all sat in the main area. A man with a long beard stood behind the counter and waived at them, putting down his tiny screwdriver and mechanical device he was working with.”Oh Hello!! Hello! What can I do for you? We have many items that you can use! Perhaps you need a— jar of shining! Yes a jar of shining to uhm. Light a dark room? Or miss, I have just collected this item, it’s a belt that never needs to be resized! We also have much more… interesting things. This Wheel came from a pirate ship that is blessed with magical navigation! How may I be of service to you?” he excitedly said. As they approached the counter, they noticed that this tall man with a tiny head was actually a gnome standing atop a very tall stool in a long coat.

  Ashen rolled his eyes. “We got your name on recommendation. The highest recommendation from Lord Marroweave that you had the highest quality magic items. Can you give me some information?”

  “Of course! But everything comes with a price.”

  Would you be willing to trade information for … me to buy something?” Ashen asked.

  “Oh… I see. Well, If you were willing to be a customer, then I could give you information,” he said. “What would you like to buy?”

  “Well, I’d like a long bow, that has no strength restrictions, that will improve my accuracy, and I’d like 10 flame arrows,” Ashen said.

  “Oh I knew when Lord Marroweave sent someone to me they would have deep pockets. I have just the thing”. He pulled out a mechanical crab and twisted a key on the back. “Freddie, please retrieve the Gnomish Great Bow and 10 uh –Alchemical or Magical flame arrows?” the clockwork crab looked expectantly at Ashen.

  “Magical flame,” Ashen answered. Freddie hopped in the air then zipped into the backroom, his legs skittering as they went. He was back in a moment.

  “What do you know about Zarathrax?” Ashen asked.

  “Oh, uhm Zarathrax, or.. Shadow flame? Not much more than any wizard or magic user knows about him. He’s a Lord of the seventh ring of hell,” he said.

  “That’s. Not a lot, okay. Well can you help me identify this?” he asked, before taking out the amulet.

  “Oh well… this is uhm. Interesting. It is of abjuration magic – protection or warding.” the gnome replied.”Very interesting”

  “How much would it cost to do a full identification of this?” Ashen asked.

  “Well, I would need one perfect quality gem, could be sapphire, diamond, ruby, plus 15 gp,” the gnome replied.

  “Would this work?” Ashen replied, handing him one of the rubies.

  “This would do fine,” the gnome acknowledged happily.

  “Can you do anything about the price?” Ashen asked.

  “Well, only if it’s exceptionally interesting. It’s already quite interesting. It’s abjuration magic, and not many people use it. Most people prefer the flashy stuff. But abjuration is not nearly as common. Where did you get it?” he asked.

  “Well, the Zarathrax Demon, Lord of the seventh circle of hell - we found six of them sacrificing a baby to summon something from it. This ruby, and the amulet were found on the leader,” Ashen explained.

  “Oh!” the gnome said excitedly. “That my friend is quite interesting. As is this ruby. Hmmm yes, I’ll do it for 7gp” The gnome hopped off his stool with the amulet. He climbed up and grabbed the ruby. “Need this of course.” Then he raced to the backroom. From there, Ashen and Slyvie could hear a lot of noise and clinking and clanking. The gnome could be heard from the back “Kazoooom-ziggidy zaggidy pleo-plio.Knooooowwwwledge” and a puff of smoke from the door. Sylvi and Ashen looked at each other in skepticism.

  “Yes, this was very interesting. It is indeed used for protection from necrotic damage. But this comes at a cost to the wearer and makes their mind more susceptible to fear and charm effects,” the gnome said.

  Ashen thanked him, handing over the 7gp.” And how much for the bow and arrows?” he asked.

  “Yes, that will be… “ the gnome calculated with a pencil and paper…” uhm… yes. Carry the one… 3,175 gp.”

  Ashen took a half step back as Sylvi burst out laughing. “I uhm. Apparently have champagne tastes and a beer budget. Do you have any scroll paper though? I need 100 sheets.”

  “Oh actually, it’s on the house,” the gnome said, “but please tell Lord Marroweave I treated you well!”

  As they exited the door, Ashen handed Magnus the scroll paper. “Where did you get this from? This is 200gp of paper?” Magnus said looking around and tucking it into his pack carefully.

  “Oh… yeh, he gave it to us for free,” Ashen shrugged. “Is that what scroll paper costs?”

  “YES!” I exclaimed.

  “We should get to the library. It’s getting late,” Sylvi reminded us.

  “Of course. Let’s go!” Magnus flashed some purple sparks from his heels and set off with Sylvi and Ashen to the Library.

  As they approached got nearer to the library, they saw a familiar face coming in the opposite direction. Kaeric was walking with a purpose with a packages of something in his arms.

  “Kaeric!” Sylvi shouted, trying to get his attention.”Kaeric! Where are you going?” She ran up and grabbed his arm to get his attention. “Kaeric! We’re headed to the Hall of Lore, are you coming?”

  “I’m bringing sausages to the dock master,” he said and continued walking. Sylvi’s stomach gurgled at the mention of food.

  “Hey guys, we’re taking a detour,” Sylvi said as she spun on her heals and followed Kaeric.

  A Saucy Detour

  “If you can’t afford to pay the levies, you can’t park your boat here!” shouted an angry gruff voice as an orc was thrown out the door in front of us. He rolled across the dirt and groaned before passing out.

  “Are you Master Bailin?” Kaeric shouted into the door.

  “Who’s asking?” A visibly heaving dwarf stood angrily at the door.

  “I’m Kaeric, I brought you sausages. I was hoping to have a conversation with you,” Kaeric said.

  The dwarf sniffed the air then thought… his scowl turned inquisitive as his head tilted. “Are those Poppy’s?”

  “Why yes they are sir,” said Kaeric. The dwarf gave a broad smile.

  “Well come on in. I won’t turn down Poppy’s for a conversation.” The dwarf brought us over to a table with his papers on it and sat us down taking a sausage with mustard on it and took a bite. “What do you need?” he said as he chewed.

  “I came to you sir because of all people, I find dwarves to be the most honest. Can you tell me who you can trust to be honest and discreet on the council? We’re looking for information regarding Zarathrax and his cultists,” Kaeric said.

  “I don’t know anything about cultists in the docs. But you may want to try the religious seat on the council, High Templar Veylon Crestwarden,” he said.

  “What about the Prophet Kaelthar Brunssen?” Kaeric asked, remembering what Lady Americk had listed.

  “Hmmmm. He’s newly arisen to prominence. Can’t really say. But you could always go to the Grand Hall of Lore.” He said.

  Kaeric asked him more questions about the dwarven people in a mountain range to the east and their history, but other than there still being dwarves there he only could say that he still traded with them.

  The party stood and thanked him for his time. As they approached the Grand Hall of Lore, it occured to them. It was close to 2am. What Library is open at –

  “It’s locked,” Kaeric said. He ran around the building shouting “Excuse me!-” The three others stood in confusion. Kaeric returned back as he replied “It opens at sunrise.”

  The four of them got two rooms nearby and slept for the night.

  The Grand Hall of Lore

  Rising above the bustling streets of Havenford’s Merchant District, the Grand Hall of Lore was a masterpiece of architecture, blending elegance and gravitas. Its sheer scale and intricacy made it a beacon for scholars, bards, and travelers alike.

  The hall was constructed from pale gray stone, quarried from distant mountains and polished to a soft sheen that gleamed in the sunlight. Tall, arched windows line the building’s facade, each adorned with intricate stained-glass depictions of legendary tales and mythical heroes. By day, these windows scatter radiant patterns of color onto the cobblestone streets below.

  A massive pair of oak doors, reinforced with bands of polished bronze, served as the main entrance. Each door engraved with a sprawling scene: one depicting the forging of knowledge, with artisans crafting books and scrolls, while the other shows bards and storytellers sharing their tales before an enraptured audience. Above the doorway, an inscription in gilded letters reads, “Truth Is Eternal, Knowledge Is Infinite.”

  The hall’s roof was crowned by a towering spire, its pinnacle adorned with an enormous quill crafted from enchanted gold that seems to shimmer even on the darkest days. Beneath the spire, a series of smaller towers rise like sentinels, each housing specialized wings for scribes, bards, and loremasters. Flying banners depicting quills, open books, and musical notes flutter from their heights, proudly proclaiming the hall’s purpose.

  A wide, semicircular plaza surrounded the front of the building, paved with mosaic tiles forming a radiant sunburst pattern. At the center stood a statue of the Goddess of Knowledge, her serene expression gazing downward as if blessing all who seek wisdom within. She holds a scroll in one hand and an open book in the other, while her flowing robes seem to ripple as if caught in an unseen breeze.

  Small groups of scholars, bards, and adventurers gathered here, sharing stories or pouring over maps and manuscripts. Street performers playing gentle tunes or recite poetry, drawing crowds eager to hear snippets of legends or news from distant lands. The sounds of quills scratching parchment, musical instruments being tuned, and quiet conversations filling the air, adding to the hall’s vibrant yet scholarly atmosphere.

  The next morning the went to the library, just before noon. There was singing and storytelling in the courtyard. Truly a bastion of bardic lore. The double doors held two symbols of bardic lore and knowledge and a script above the doors read: “Truth Is Eternal, Knowledge Is Infinite.”. Entering the doors, it was quieter, but still people discussed and had hushed (yet heated) discourse about all manor of conversations.

  Two Scholars argued amongst themselves at a table.“I tell you, the root of the problem lies in the misinterpretation of the ancient glyphs!” The first said excitedly. “ If we approach them from the perspective of the Feytongue dialect, they make far more sense. I’ve always said that the Elven scholars of old had a knack for embedding hidden meanings.”

  “But you’re overlooking the historical context!” The other replied with exasperation. ”The cultural shifts of the time suggest a different interpretation. It’s not just about the language—it’s about the symbolism behind the glyphs. It’s the event they describe that matters most.”

  Walking amongst the books and discussing with eachother, two men appearing to be travellers talked quietly. “I’ve been to the Mountains of Regret, yes, and I’ll tell you, there’s something unnatural about that place.” The first said. ”We found a cave, deep in the hills, covered in strange runes. My companions were all eager to explore further, but something felt off. You ever have that feeling?”

  The other thought for a second “The Mountains of Regret, you say? I’ve heard tales from some of the older monks who passed through there.” she said. ”They say that the wind in those mountains can carry voices—lost souls, they call them. You didn’t hear any whispers, did you?”

  Approaching the front desk, Magnus heard another set of scholars. “I’ve been trying to unravel the mystery of the Chronicles of Evermore.” the taller said. “They say the author vanished without a trace after writing the final entry. The book ends abruptly with a strange poem. Could it be a clue? A code? Perhaps a map?”

  The gnome standing with him replied in earnest, “You’re not the first to ask that question. There are rumors that a hidden second volume exists, but no one’s been able to confirm it. Some say it's in a vault beneath the Grand Hall, but that’s just... well, legends.”

  Magnus reached the front desk and a dwarf looked down at me from a raised platform with a single monocle. “Yes?” he said.

  “Ah, yes, sir, I am Magnus, bard and storyteller. We are here to seek knowledge from the restricted section, on permission from the head of the merchants guild Lord Marroweave,” he said, holding out the sheet of paper from the guild leader. “And I also have to register two knew pieces of information.” The dwarf sat up at this, and adjusted himself in his seat, with newfound fervor. “One of which is historical ancestry of the Griffin family of Greymoor, Lord Allistair Greymoor, taken from an etching of a holy place, thousands of years old, and of yet, undiscovered and unknown. It will likely go in the restricted section due to the protected nature of the information revealed. The second is current events of the curse of Greymoor’s Blight that just happened.” He waved his hand and two platforms floated down for the accounts to be left.

  “The restricted section is that way, give your information to the guards and they’ll let you in. You can collect your originals when they have been processed at the end of the day. Good day to you and may your search for truth be ever guided by wisdom.” He said the last sentence flatly as he had thousands of times before

  Ashen stayed back as the party entered into the restricted section. Sylvi, Kaeric, and Magnus spent the day researching.

  Sylvi spent the day researching ways to protect the amulet. Kaeric looked into the history of the circles of hell, specifically the seventh circle of hell. This was challenging and had some ambiguity as it was taken wholly from transcription as he doesn’t read Infernal. Finally Magnus tried to get more information about the artifacts mentioned in the Grimoire.

  The Price of Protection: Potions, Tears, and a Whole Lot of Trust

  The party, exhausted at the end of the day, was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information they had uncovered: the last known locations of the artifacts, hints of what guarded them, and Sylvi’s discovery of a ritual to protect the Amulet. Following her intuition, they found themselves at a shop that seemed uniquely suited to their needs.

  As Kaeric, Sylvi, and Magnus pushed open the creaking door, the scent of soil and moss greeted them. The shop was overgrown with ivy, ferns, and other lush greenery that seemed to breathe life into the room. The woman who owned the shop, Elder Velmora, was lighting a candle as they entered, her silver hair entwined with vines and tendrils of fern that appeared to grow from her skin. Her wizened eyes betrayed her ancient wisdom despite her youthful appearance.

  Sylvi stepped forward, holding a piece of parchment with a list of ingredients:

  1. Fragment of Pure Light: A shard of concentrated celestial light.

  2. Powdered Moonstone: Harvested during a lunar eclipse for maximum potency.

  3. Ashes of Ancient Eldar Trees: Only from trees felled by natural forces, such as lightning or strong winds.

  4. Tear of Remembrance: A single tear shed at a moment of true grief or loss.

  5. Eternal Flame: A flame infused with both fire and shadow magic.

  6. Sacrificial Blood: Freely given to bind the spell.

  She handed the list to Velmora. “Do you have these?”

  Velmora wrinkled her nose at the paper, handing it to an owl perched nearby. As the owl carried the parchment away, Velmora began pulling items from shelves. "And what is this for, perchance?" she asked, slipping a vial into one of her many pockets.

  Kaeric answered bluntly, “I don’t want to lie to you, but I also don’t want to tell you. I’ve only just met you.”

  Velmora chuckled. “Fair enough. Though you don’t look smart enough to lie convincingly.” She retrieved a fist-sized glass container filled with a black-and-red flame. Returning to the counter, she set it down. “Powdered moonstone, harvested 17 years ago, will cost you 500 gold pieces. The eternal flame, which I’ve kept for nearly a century, is a bargain at 100 gold pieces.”

  The party exchanged uneasy glances, aware of how little gold they had.

  “What do you know about the shadows?” Kaeric asked suddenly.

  Velmora raised an eyebrow, her expression darkening. “My children—” she gestured to the plants surrounding her, “—have spoken of them. They’ve seen the shadows and are worried.”

  Magnus stepped forward, addressing Sylvi. “I think we should tell her what the spell is for. Your intuition brought us here, not to a standard shop, not to a charlatan, but to someone who cares about the world around her. If you trust her, I trust her.”

  Sylvi nodded, and Magnus took a deep breath, his voice sincere as he explained. “Elder Velmora, we’ve witnessed what appears to be the beginning of a dark and terrible chain of events. Greymoor has suffered crop blights, tremors, and kidnappings, all linked to shadows. We encountered a drow acting for the Cult of Shadows and Flames—followers of Zarathrax. On our journey here, we stopped another sect summoning shadow beasts. This ritual we seek to perform is a protective spell to hinder their efforts. If they succeed, they could open pathways to bind Zarathrax across planes, unleashing unimaginable destruction. If you care for your children, even if you can’t help us directly, please point us to someone who can.”

  Velmora placed a hand over Magnus’s and then returned to her shelves. She retrieved a third vial and placed it on the counter. “This tear was reserved for another customer, but I’ll let her know it was misplaced. Avoid buying ashes in the city—they’ll be fraudulent. For the fragment of light, I’ll direct you where to search.” She handed a slip of paper to Sylvi, along with five minor healing potions. “Take these with my blessing. Do what you can, and that is all the payment I require. And one more thing—the ashes you seek may be found in Gloomwood Forest, where elder trees have likely fallen over time.”

  Sylvi embraced Velmora, gratitude evident in her gesture.

  Magnus, moved by her generosity, pulled his coin from his pocket. Given to him so long ago. “This coin has great significance to me. I will return it to retrieve it from you when we have completed our mission and your children are safe from the shadows.”

  Velmora smiled, her eyes twinkling. “An item of great importance and personal meaning? I will hold you to it.”

  As they left the shop, Sylvi announced, “I’m paying for Berf’s stable fees and sausages. Let’s head back to the Merchant District.”

  On their way, the group’s attention was drawn to a hooded man standing on a cart, calling out. “Seek brotherhood? A sense of meaning and purpose? Join us, and you will find community. You will find others who share your pain and triumph.”

  Ashen stepped forward as Magnus began strumming his mandolin softly. “You need to leave,” Ashen said firmly.

  “Why should we leave? Leave us be,” the cultist retorted.

  Ashen, the Cultist Killer

  Through shadows deep and twisted halls,

  Ashen strikes where darkness calls.

  Ashen stood taller. “You need to go”, he said.

  The cultist held out a bag of coins.”Certainly there is some way that you can go on your way?”

  He tramples those who prey on need,

  Destroying cults and crushing greed.

  “Thank you for your donation,” Ashen said and snatched the bag. Now Go,” he shouted. The cultist looked around at the four of us circling him. And jumped off the cart and hurried away.

  A scourge to those who serve the flame,

  Zarathrax's followers curse his name.

  Looking over at Magnus, Sylvi said. “We need to follow that cultist. And Bury his ass”

  Details from the library:

  Book: The Relics of Shadow and Flame

  Summary: Bound in aged, blackened metal, the cover of this tome is etched with runes of unknown origin. The pages within are charred and brittle, carrying the acrid scent of smoke, as if the book itself had been salvaged from a fiery inferno. The text is written in a mix of Infernal and Common, and the words seem to shimmer faintly as they recount dark tales of the Shadowflame Lord Zarathrax. This tome is a chilling catalog of artifacts tied to Zarathrax’s influence, each steeped in legend, power, and foreboding warnings.

  Artifact: The Heart of Shadows

  Location: Beneath Shadowspire Keep

  Description: The Heart of Shadows is an ancient artifact, said to pulse with the very essence of darkness. It resides beneath the ruins of Shadowspire Keep, a fortress long abandoned and reclaimed by the shadowed plane. This keep sits in the Forest of Witherwood, surrounded by a crag crowned with lifeless, skeletal trees pointed skyward, as if in eternal mourning.

  The Heart reacts violently to those with impure intentions, twisting its surroundings into perilous manifestations of shadow and despair. Controlled by followers of Zarathrax, this artifact is both a source of immense power and a deadly trap for those who seek it without resolve.

  Artifact: The Black Mirror

  Location: Deep within the Fane of Dreaded Reflections, Gloomwood Forest

  Description: The Black Mirror is a chilling gateway between the material plane and the shadowed plane. The Fane of Dreaded Reflections, a temple concealed within Gloomwood Forest, serves as its resting place.

  The artifact is infamous for twisting the mind of anyone who gazes too long into its depths, showing horrifying reflections of their worst fears. The temple itself is a treacherous maze of traps and defenders, haunted by those who failed to resist the mirror’s allure. A mysterious figure known as the Veiled Maiden is said to point the way, though not all mirrors within the fane reflect the truth.

  Artifact: The Embered Crown

  Location: Amid the remains of the Ashen City of Caldrath

  Description: Sitting upon the scorched throne of the once-great city of Caldrath, the Embered Crown is a testament to the wrath of Zarathrax. The rulers of Caldrath betrayed their pact with the Shadowflame Lord, and in retribution, the city and its people were reduced to ash.

  The crown burns with an unholy fire, a relic of the devastation wrought by its former owner. The throne chamber is protected by everburning guardians—immortal sentinels who know no rest and will incinerate intruders without hesitation. Caldrath lies atop a mountain where the sun seems never to set, casting an eerie perpetual twilight over the ruins. Magnus was able to copy a map detailing this location.

  Artifact: The Eye of Zarathrax

  Location: Rumored to be lost in the Seventh Circle of Hell

  Description: The Eye of Zarathrax is a legendary artifact of immense power, directly connected to the Shadowflame Lord himself. While its true location remains a mystery, legends suggest it is lost somewhere within the seventh layer of hell—a plane of unparalleled torment and desolation.

  The Eye is said to amplify its wielder’s connection to Zarathrax, granting unfathomable power, but also placing them under his influence. While the book describes the artifact as being lost, Magnus and his party know the truth: it hangs around Sylvi’s neck, its presence a heavy and foreboding secret. Should the Eye ever be returned to the seventh layer of hell, it would unleash devastation upon the material plane.

  Book: The Infernal Tapestry

  Author: Pennlow Avarice

  Summary:This tome is a detailed exploration of the infernal hierarchy, specifically delving into the mysteries of the Seventh Circle, known as Malachar. It provides insights into its ruler, Zarathrax, and the unique nature of his domain, which is described as being shaped and reshaped by Zarathrax’s will, where reality itself bends to his desires.

  Key Details:

  1. The Seventh Circle (Malachar):

  ? Malachar is a realm of mutable landscapes and nightmarish constructs that shift constantly under Zarathrax’s command. His absolute authority over his domain is unparalleled in the infernal planes.

  ? The book provides vivid descriptions of Malachar but does not detail how Zarathrax came to rule this layer.

  2. The King of Caldrath and the Pact:

  ? The book corroborates information from Relics of Shadow and Flame about the ancient city of Caldrath and its tragic downfall.

  ? The pact with Zarathrax is central to the city’s story: the king’s rejection of the pact led to the utter destruction of Caldrath. The ashes of the pact serve as an ominous reminder of Zarathrax’s fury and the price of defiance.

  3. Missing Pages:

  ? Three pages were deliberately cut from the book, leaving tantalizing gaps in the narrative.

  ? These pages may have held critical information about the specifics of Zarathrax’s pact-making process or even secrets about the infernal lord’s vulnerabilities.

  Connection to Relics of Shadow and Flame:

  This book reinforces the claims of Relics of Shadow and Flame regarding the fate of Caldrath, its king, and the cursed pact. However, the missing pages add an air of mystery, suggesting that there may be more to the story than either book reveals. The removal of the pages hints at either deliberate censorship or an effort to conceal crucial knowledge.

  Book: Ages Eternal - Art of Ancient Wards

  Author:Veridion Solarknight, known as "The Vigilant,"The Order of the Obsidian Chain.

  Description:

  Ages Eternal - Art of Ancient Wards is a comprehensive tome of protective magic. Written by "The Vigilant," a legendary mage of The Order of the Obsidian Chain, it combines centuries of arcane, divine, and even blood magic expertise into one volume. The book’s primary focus is on creating wards and enchantments designed to endure across ages.

  One chapter, in particular, details an extraordinary ward designed to protect an artifact or location for hundreds of years. The technique combines rare magical elements and rituals that require unwavering dedication and significant resources.

  Ingredients for the Ritual

  The described ritual demands the following rare and symbolic components:

  ? Blood of the Devoted: Blood willingly given by an individual who has sworn a solemn oath to protect the object. The ritual requires sincerity of intent and devotion to the item’s cause.

  ? Fragment of Pure Light: A shard of concentrated celestial light, purified by priests of light. Such fragments can be found in:

  ? Temples of Light

  ? Naturally occurring celestial crystals at holy sites.

  ? Powdered Moonstone: This must be harvested during a lunar eclipse for maximum potency. Moonstone powder of this caliber is rare but may be purchased from arcane markets—though the author warns counterfeits are prevalent.

  ? Ashes of Ancient Eldar Trees: Only the ashes of trees felled by natural forces—such as lightning strikes or strong winds—retain the potency required for this ritual.

  ? Tear of Remembrance: A single tear, willingly shed at a moment of true grief or loss. This component embodies the emotional power needed to bind the spell’s intent.

  ? Eternal Flame: A flame with ties to both fire and shadow magic. Crafting or harnessing such a flame requires an expert in shadowflame magic or fire rituals.

  The Ritual Process

  The ritual is described as both labor-intensive and delicate:

  Duration: The process can take anywhere from 24 hours to a full week.

  Requirements:

  ? The ritual must be performed in a place of power—a site imbued with magical significance.

  ? A powerful spellcaster in arcane magic must lead the ritual.

  Multiple individuals can contribute to share the magical burden, ensuring the enchantment's stability.

  The book emphasizes the rarity of the ingredients and the importance of their authenticity. Counterfeit materials often lead to flawed rituals, which could jeopardize the ward's integrity.