A Land Far Away

"Life in the circus ain't easy
But the folks on the outside don't know
The tent goes up and the tent comes down
And all that they see is the show
And the ladies on the horses look so pretty
And the lions are lookin' real mad
And some of the clowns are happy
And some of the clowns are sad"



They say starting over is one of the most difficult things anyone can do, and Aeldre Feyblade contemplated this very topic inside the securely locked reinforced cell of the Dock Ward Watch House. You can see, or at least anyone who looked close enough with any measure of real interest or concern, mistakes had been made. We will avoid trying to put any numerical value to the actual number of mistakes made, because at the end of any given day what does it really matter?

Mistakes take a myriad shapes n sizes, and can often have the most unexpected consequences. For example Funeral Wells had spun Poodle Murphy on the target as he threw his hardware, and only once in Neverwinter did he miss at a matinee on Moonstone Mask, and she had never let him forget it. They were doing two shows and he had a high fever and took off a piece of her ear. Injury isn't so bad as far as consequences go, better then death, dismemberment, or imprisonment. Though other times you make a left when your "should have" taken a right, and find yourself stumbling into an unexpected delight. Like the evening in Baldur's Gate that started with a winning game of dice then welcomed the dawn with exploration of the pleasures of the Lucky Sword, Feast Hall. Sometimes the consequences of a mistake can be very obvious, though I guess what we are trying to express is that they are not always predictable, nor are they always necessarily even bad or painful. Sometimes life presents us with happy little accidents that we can find ways to enjoy if we just open our minds and hearts to the possibilities.

While packing his pipe with Kif, ole' Aeldre Feyblade considered where he was and how he had ended up there. Striking up the tinder twig cast a warm glow across the otherwise cold wet stone of the basement cell. The light dimed as he lowered the flame to his pipe, but the sweet smoke filled him with a euphoric glow all it's own. It would be difficult to get comfortable in a cell like this under the best of circumstances, and Scar-faced Ron in the cell next to him drunkenly bemoaning about how he missed the old times and how things were alot better back then really was not helping. It was not helping Feyblade focus, and no amount of bemoaning the past was gonna help Scar-faced Ron, unless he was aiming to make enough of a racket to earn himself what Constable Tunny would phrase as "little correctional clubbing."

Closing his eyes he exhaled slow. Letting himself just savor the moment alone in the dark with taste of Kif passing through his grin and the warm acceptance that his being here was perhaps one of life's happy little accidents. A grand mistake of the good natured variety, that he could find ways to enjoy and celebrate, if only he kept his mind and heart open and flexible to the myriad possibilities of the best of all possible worlds. The Kif sure as the hells did not hurt in those regards. Ought be common practice to provide a little Kif to all their prisoners. Keep things calm and even keel down here in the cells. At a mighty minimal it ought to lower the octaves of the complaints a measure or more.

The shuffle of the evening Watch Patrols returning was barely audible in the basement cells below, but Feyblade heard it well enough to know it was time to make his move. With part resignation for what was to come, and some mixed measures of pleasure n excitement at the prospect of the unknow, he got of his bottom forge. With an ineffective wave of his right hand to displace the smoke inside his cell, then sauntered over to the door and reached through the bars to unlock them with his key. The thought of what others might be willing to pay for copies of that key tickled his fancy and made him smile wide. Time enough to entertain those thoughts later in the day while enjoying a bottle of Sweet-berry Winter Wine for lunch. For the now it was time to get upstairs and get into uniform, and with that thought he fondly remembered the circus and realized this Watch House was not so different then transient tents he once called home. Tigers in cages, juggling acts, and plenty of clowns.

This is quite good. Great character. Great intro to him.

"Across a painted desert lies a train of vagabonds
All that's left of what we were, it's what we have become
Once our empires glorious but now the empire's gone
The dead gave us the time to live and now our time is done
Now we are victorious, we've become our slaves
A land of hope and glory, building graveyards for the brave

Have you seen the writing on the wall?
Have you seen that writing?
Can you see the riders on the storm?
Can you see them riding?
Can you see them riding, riding next to you?
Can you see them riding, riding next to me?"



Without the intentional beats and banter of a practiced circus barker, he spoke with a flowing elegance of his people's tongue. Without the fake enthusiasm of his role as recent recruit of the Waterhavian Watch, or that of a hardened realms wary criminal, he instead spoke from his heart with different measures of cautious reservation, the weight of resignation, and an honest layering of sweet sincere excitement. There was no need to make use of the City's cant, no need to put on airs, now was a time to speak true.

"I have placed myself upon a precarious perch that is granting a not only a potentially deadly fall, but a very particular view of this City of Splendors. I stand with one foot within The Forsaken Thieves of Waterdeep, who are not the noble nor good natured knaves of our fair humored Fey Jester, and they are very quick to use the knife. My having also recently become a Waterhavian Blade has provoked their impulse to draw first and last blood. As luck would have it, the Evershiffting be praised, I have been bestowed with the opportunity to show to those who doubt the advantages of such questionable footing is not without advantages, and that I am capable of traversing such treacherous terrain towards treasures untold."

With a smile upon his face and the cold chill of Waterdeep's night hawk howling through the empty street, he looked up to his audience with a twinkle in his eye before drinking from his bottle of red berry brandy.

"I am well aware that pledging an allegiance to both of these organizations was not a particularly wise decision, and I do believe we may both agree that despite the juggling act, or perhaps because of it, there is great potential for chills and thrills here. Now let me tell you what has been asked of me and how it is I plan to accomplish it."

Grinning like a fox who found his way into the hen house he continued, his eyes shined like fire reflected on wine.

"The Forsaken are planning a heist, and I have been tasked with procuring for them the routes of the Watch patrols relevant to what it is they have planned. I have a single Ten Day to produce said patrol routes, and you and I can both make educated guesses as to what may become of myself if during these trying times of loyalties being tested I was to fail to produce. That being said, in full disclosure I have been also told a share of the heists profits if there are any will find their way to me should I do my part. So at least the Forsaken are willing to also use carrots instead of just leaning heavily upon the threat of the stick."

Raising his bottle once more in a gesture of good cheer upon the dark and empty Waterhavian Street, he took another warming swallow of the strong and sweet stinging brandy.

"Now you maybe asking yourself, Self? How will he do this? How will he manage to find his way through a Watch House full of Watchmen, access their inner sanctum, and steal their secrets? You may also be of the misinformed opinion that because I am a member of the Watch I will have access to such things, this I assure you is not true, or at least not completely true. For as you now come to learn, my cousin, I am simply Recruit Constable Feyblade of the Dock Ward Watch House here in their eyes, my sphere of influence within their bureaucracy is very much so limited. I am to follow orders and administer minor to major clubbing as needed under the watchful gaze of Constable Richard Tunny, a fifteen year veteran of the Waterhavain Watch. I can not simply stroll into the North Ward Watch House and take what I will from it, or perhaps I can? Would you like to hear the Plan?"

Love this, J. That he should be talking conspirationally about it all to Korsan’s statue is so perfect. Well done!

"See which flavor you like and I'll have it for you
Come on in to my store, I've got candy galore
Don't pretend you're not hungry, I've seen it before
I've got Amnish delight baby and so much more

All the suckers are not what we sell in the store
Chocolate kisses so good
You'll be beggin' for more
Don't pretend you're not hungry
There's plenty to eat
Come on in to my store
'Cause my sugar is sweet!"



With a smile on his face Aeldre Feyblade, waited for a response. He patiently waited awhile before deciding to accept the statue's silence as a yes. He never was expecting a response, but he lived his life leaving room and opportunity for the unexpected to flourish where it so choses. That and it seemed the polite thing to do, to give his audience the chance to make it less of a one sided conversation.

"As I had said earlier, I am in their eyes a recent recruit, and my plan begins with using this perception of theirs to conceal the truth of my intent and purpose there. I will be the helpless wide eyed innocent so much so their only concern for me might be lending me their aid and wisdom as is theirs to give as the senior and experienced Watchmen that they are. I though do not intend to rely up my playing the role alone though, I intend to reinforce all of this with a variety of props and supporting actors, all of which should be capable of selling their roles because they will not be performing, they will simply be themselves."

"Now, please do entertain the walk I am going to take you on, enjoy the journey and all of that."

"In preparation I have introduced my fellow Watchmen to a mysterious and apparently devil infested House of an old Magister located in the North Ward of the City. Having looked upon portals to other places, having fought Hounds of Hell and Devilish Imps, and survived, has only made them more curious and questioning as to how this place came to be and what if anything can be done about it. We will arrive to the North Ward Watch House with crates of Hriiat Fine Pastries and urns of hot coffee. We will arrive as fellow Watchmen who want to treat our North Ward brethren to a well earned treat from their thankless daily labors, while we discuss with with them what if anything they know about this House of the Magister. Constable Tunny will open the door for me, for my dutiful new recruit hands will be full of boxes of pastries and the task of seeing them served, along with hot coffee. This will help to set the tone, I will be the new recruit who passes out sweet treats and hot cups of black coffee, if only those who are able will open the doors for me to deliver my rewards to where they belong."

"They will ask what we are doing there, but we will be in Uniform, and my hands will already be deftly setting out Coffee and Tarts. My actions will show to them what we are doing, while Constable Tunny explains to them why it is being done. Constable Tunny may ask right off about the Magister's House, revealing our inquiry or he may tell them we are here to raise morale, and even though they will be very curious, I suspect they will be disinclined to do or say anything that might interrupt or worse retract the coffee and pastries that are being place before them. While Constable Tunny and the others discuss the virtues of clubbing, the Magisters House, the trouble with Hins, or whatever conversation they decide to engage in while partaking of the coffee and pastries, I will as the wide eyed new recruit will ask if I should carry the excessive amount of remaining pastries up tot he barracks for them to partake of later or for the next shift to have. There being an excessive amount of pastries is a key ingredient, in that the watchmen present need to have more then they can eat presented to them immediately so that it is obvious to all that there storing the excess is the only reasonable course of action."



"Not wanting to be taken to far from the comradery and intellectual discourse of shared racisms, supernatural ignorance, and enthusiastically bonding over brutality, as well as the table of treats before them....the plan is for one of the North Ward Watchmen to open the way to their barracks for me, so I can dutifully do my part as the wide eyed new recruit setting out treats for the next shift and seeing the rest put to storage. Once alone inside the barracks I will go about moving cot to cot I and setting out treats, I will search for the Patrol Routes I am to find, make a copy of them upon my map of Waterdeep, and then return below having done what was expected of me, to the thoroughly engaging conversation already in progress."

"Crestfallen sidekick in an old cafe
Never slept with a dream before he had to go away
There's a bell in the tower, Uncle Tunny bought a round
Don't worry 'bout the Watch in the cold, cold ground

Now don't be a cry baby when there's wood in the shed
There's a bird in the chimney and a stone in my bed
When the road's washed out, we pass the bottle around
And wait in the arms of the cold, cold ground"



Sometimes the truth simply defies traditional means of description. Metaphors are needed to share it, to understand it, not just with others, but with ourselves. Aeldre Feyblade's short time in Waterdeep was to be accurately described, it maybe best to do so with an emotional weather report. Arriving to the City of Splendors was to cross through a fog so thick it and oppressively heavy with droplets of shame and grief it forced his shoulders low and made his feet want to drag. Yet he trudged along in a desperate series of struggling sloppy steps in search of the shelter of redemption, boots sloshing wet from walking through puddles of pity and self loathing. What made Waterdeep more then just another mire, more then just another moor, was the helping hand of Constable Richard Tunny, breaking through the previously impenetrable clouds with all the intensity and warmth of spring time skies.

The man had been a force of nature, one that left his mark upon those around them, be it through the end of a standard issue Waterdeep Watchman's Rod, or his ever insistent and invasive good humored mirth mixed with earnest concern for others. The man had been the first honest and true friend to cross path with Feyblade in decades. The warmth of that friendship was campfire to gather around and warm hands and hearts, it was a beacon that attracted strays from far and wide. It was that extended hand and fat man's silly smile that lead Feyblade and other strays to being wrapped in the esprit de corps and comradery of Watchmen Cloaks and carrying clubs.

For a brief time the beneath the tutelage and leadership of Constable Richard Tunny, there was nothing the four of them could not do, and together they did what they wanted. The City of Splendors was their oyster and they played marbles with priceless perfect pearls in it's back alleys and open air squares. The smoked and they joked, the marched together into battles, and they made a difference for the better, and for each other. They were each their own man in their own way, but together the four of them were a team, and together they were unstoppable, for a time.

Jack had been on the raggedy edge of his own demons for as long as Feyblade had known the Gnome, which was not long, but more then long enough to know the Gnome was loose cannon. The deaths of Constable Tunny and their Squad mate Persepro Corthala may have been enough to send that gnome over that edge, and there was nothing but silence between them. As the only other survivor besides Jack, Feyblade himself was left deaf and dumb, reeling from the horror of having lost the pair, having lost his partners, a mentor, and friends. It was uncertain if either one would maintain their badges. Jack might decide to lose what was left of himself to the work of the Watch, let it consume him, shield him, and drive him forward like a golem while he worked to recover from the losses. For Feyblade though, the Watch was never about the job, it was about them. It was about the bonds of friendship formed over long idle hours in the public squares sharing quips and hourly ordained smoke breaks, listening to Old Dick Tunny tell his tall tales, and exchanging quips with Perspero, and leaning against walls with Jack in good company.

"Should I stay or should I go now?
Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go, there will be trouble
And if I stay it will be double
So come on and let me know

This indecision's bugging me
If you don't want me, set me free
Exactly whom I'm supposed to be
Don't you know which clothes even fit me?
Come on and let me know"



There was a lot to unpack here, literally. Master of perhaps self titled Ass Blasting Soosh of the Adventurer's Guild had apparently decided Aeldre Feyblade was Guild material, or maybe not. Either way, he was awarded a key to the Guild, provided a tour and granted the title of either Adventurer's Guild Associate or Apprentice. The Gnomish Wizard Soosh seemed uncertain of which title to grant or what they may mean, and so Feyblade did not ask to many questions. There was no need to make any of this any more confusing then it already was by trying to clarify any of it.

During the course of the tour there were quite a few things to take note of and be sure to remember, such as the basement being haunted by mysterious thefts, the toilets having once been attacked by monsters made of night soil, the Guild being focused upon making a difference in the Shadow War, and the fact that there were half a dozen boxes in storage that were without a mistake previously used to smuggle illegal drugs into the City of Waterdeep for distribution and profit by the Forsaken of Tymora Thieves Guild.

Now the smuggling contains had clearly been emptied out of their previous contents and have been used by the Guild for sometime as storage containers, but they were also clearly once the vessels of illegal substances and that is the sort of thing that could get an individual or organization into unwanted trouble. Especially with Constable Jack's report about having found Babies laying beside weapons and decapitated Goblin heads, and issuing the Adventurer's Guild a warning. Not to mention the article the Daily Trumpet published. You would think they would have taken the time to make sure they did not have anything incriminating laying around, yet here were stacks and stacks of Forsaken of Tymora shipping containers.

What to do, what to do?
There was as previously stated, a lot to unpack here.

Reporting this to the Watch, as a Constable, coupled with Jack's previous report and issued warning could be enough to to have a Civilar lead a search of the entire facility, possibly even with a Magister present. If anything else was found, it could be the right step towards becoming Armar Feyblade. Though I would also likely put an end to the Adventurer's Guild war effort, possibly an end to the organization. Not ideal.

There is also the possibility that nothing else of note is found, and the entire place is searched from top to bottom for nothing more then some containers of previously questionable contents and origins that could easily be explained away with perhaps also a fine, or bribe, or a donation. According to Soosh, what was in the Vault was really an unknown because the keys to it were misplaced some time ago. That would not be a step towards becoming Armar Feyblade, nor would it likely win him the votes of confidence he needed from the Guild Masters to warrant his own room.

Choice, choices, choices....

There was also the option of saying nothing, doing nothing. The old faithful of options for when in doubt, let it sort itself out. The Guild appeared to have had these containers for months, maybe seasons, or years. Should more of them come in over time, maybe Feyblade could be in a position to, take care of them? See their contents sold off for a bit of clink, make some friends in the process, and avoid making any waves. That is if there was not already someone here with ties to the Forsaken of Tymora.

Guild Master Cornelius Tauber did not seem a very likely suspect, neither did the Dwarf Kharak, both men struck Feyblade as men who were made of unyielding mettle who would be incapable of lowering themselves to something so distasteful to their rigid concepts of honor. The druidess Birdsong equally unlikely but for different reasons, mostly because the laws of men and the organizations such as City Watch and Thieves Guild would be beneath the notice and concern of one devoted to the old ways as she. Vaylar seemed more likely to be a member of some secret society of elite wealthy infernalists then a member of the Forsaken. That left only Soosh and Selu, both of whom could be members of the Forsaken, not that the Forsaken had a membership roster that could be checked. Soosh seemed so far out of his mind that he could be or not be a member and possible believe himself a member while not being or be a member and not remember, anything was possible with Soosh, he was chaos incarnate. Selu with his sagged shoulders, heavy drinking, and emotional burdens seemed the sort who could self justify being a member of the Forsaken, he just seemed the sort with nothing to Loss which made him the Forsaken's target audience for recruitment.

Standing there in front of the various boxes of different shapes and sizes, Feyblade wondered how long he had been standing there lost in his thoughts. He needed to step away and think this through, and so he did. With a glass of wine or several and a comfortable chair would be what sorting this mess would require. So he made his merry way to the Elfstone Tavern to order a bottle and work his way though these sorted affairs.

Somewhere along the process, actually about three quarters through the bottle, Aeldre Feyblade realized that he was being needlessly selfish, dangerously selfish, self destructive levels of selfish. It happens. You lose enough, make enough poor choices, give up to much of who you are or could have been, and it can be easy to find yourself seeing things from the perspective of wanting something back from the Realms and others. Thoughts get twisted around and lead you down the wrong roads, and the whole mess of it can turn into a vicious cycle.

The Forsaken were an interest, an interesting challenge that gave him access to insights to the Waterhavian society of criminals he otherwise would not have, and the Watch was really something he had joined for his friend Tunny, not ever a career he would have adopted the mantle of otherwise, though once you had a Watchman's badge and the doors it opened, one did not discard such lightly.

There was a special joy in opening the doors others wanted Closed.

Pouring the last of his bottle into his cup, taking a generous swallow, and then pouring that very last splash of wine in. That last splash is where the secret to happiness hides. Feyblade said to no one in particular in the even tone and flow of elven often reserved for Oaths be they made sober or otherwise.

"I came here to pay my respects and perhaps say farewell, yet before me awaits oppertunity for repentance and redemption, as best and as worst as my eye can see. I will take a chance on that opportunity. I will do right by the Guild of Adventurers, and by doing right by them, may I do right by others and someday find myself made right."

His mind was determined and steadfast to tell Guild Master Cornelius of what he found, in a friendly and helpful manner, in the manner befitting an Associate or an Apprentice, which ever he was. Feyblade would suggest humbly, that it maybe best the Guild do away with such containers.

Nodding to himself he packed his pipe full of sweet smelling Kif.

Shaking his head he lit the pipe and mentally, internally, and externally because he was shaking his head, Aeldre Feyblade immediately back peddled on what he had just decided. No....no he did not want to try and have that conversation with Guild Master Cornelius, far to many ways that could go very very poorly, very very quickly. This was a time for fast and deliberate action! As soon as he finished this pipe, and the secret of happiness left somewhere in his cup.

As soon as he eventually got back to the Guild House, he would dispose of the smuggling crates, and then afterwards let the Masters know of what he did and why. If he got a slap on the wrist or demoted from Associate to Apprentice, or from Apprentice to Associate, or stripped of both titles it really did not matter. He was going to help them.

Aeldre Feyblade was going to do right, even if it was wrong.

"Well, most things that I know, I didn't learn in class
The road don't go forever, so ride it while it lasts
If you're gonna raise a ruckus, one word of advice
If you're gonna do wrong buddy do wrong right

If you're gonna do wrong, buddy, do wrong right
If you're gonna do wrong, buddy, do wrong right
You wanna make a little mess, you wanna make a little crime
If you're gonna do wrong, buddy, do wrong right"

Constable Aeldre Feyblade Dock Ward Precinct wrote:


Case: Rat Trap
Name: Constable Aeldre Feyblade
Location of Incident: Dock Wards City Section 3M

Description of Incident: While on patrol of the Dock Wards I encountered Valyar Floshin an Elven Sorcerer of the Adventurer's Guild, and a Half-Orc Warrior named Akkad who claimed to be a Sword of Selune. Knowing that "Swords of Selune" was likely a thinly veiled reference to The Swords of the Lady, commonly called the Lunatics, a fanatical knightly order devoted to the goddess Selûne the Moonmaiden. In accordance with the training I received from Constable Richard Tunny, may he rest in peace, I thought best I keep a very close eye on the activates of the pair because the last thing the good people of the Dock Wards need are an unchecked elven sorcerer and half-orc lunatic causing trouble throwing about raw emotional magics and baring tusks and steel in the streets.

The pair entered a narrow alley from which I could hear, with my well honed elven Watchman trained ears, the sounds of battle, and I decided it was time to intervene. As I entered the alley with my Badge held out in my left hand and my Watchman Rod ready in my right hand for any corrective clubbing that may need to be dispensed, I found a wild melee of frenzied Plague Rats swarming the pair of, "Adventurers." Making an in the moment, swift, and immediate decision, based upon my extensive training under the direct tutelage of Constable Richard Tunny, I leapt into action to beat back the mouth foaming Plague Rats and save the lives of the two "Adventurers" because even if they were an Elven Sorcrer and an Half-Orc Lunatic, they were Citizens of Waterdeep and I would not allow them to be arse fingered, to death.

Upon assessing the situation after the initial battle, it was obvious from the dozens of Were-Rat whines emanating from the nearby building that the Plague Rats had their blood up and there would be murder in the streets if they were not swiftly and immediately clubbed repeatedly into submission. I blew my Watch issued Horn to summon a patrol, but knew that the longer I waited, the more of the Plague Rats would work themselves into a proper Were-Rat Frenzy, and so I pressed the "Adventurers" into doing their Civic duty and lending their support to my effort to clean up the mess they had made.

By the time we fought our way through the dozens, no, Hundreds of Plague Rats and I defeated the Mischief Colonel in single combat using traditional Waterdeep Watchman Club Fighting, it had been at least an hour of continuous fighting. Having taken note of the time spent in life or death combat against such an over whelming horde of teeth bearing, claw rending Were-Rats, I decided to take my on the hour regulation smoke break.

Afterwards I congratulated the "Adventurers" on having done their part, and together we emerged to the streets above to find the Plague Rats gathering in force, and once more it was time to brandish the Watchman Rod of Justice and keep the Streets of Splendor Safe for one and all. During the worst of the fighting the Half-Orc Akkad was held and rendered helpless by dark Plague Rat Magics while molested by several summoned Rust Monsters. Having witnessed how it is he came to be stripped naked to his questionable tattoos, I decided not to issue him a fine for public indecency and instead gave him only a warning not to again run the streets with his pork saber in display of women and children. Below is a sketch of the scene for official records along with the evidence I have submitted with this report.

Thankfully no Citizens were harmed.

"Throw your caution to the wind, boys
Coins are falling from the trees
And moderation is a sin, boys
What's a little hoof and mouth disease?

Put him with the other stiffs, boys
Take the pennies from his eyes
And seal the deal with a kiss, boys
'Cause suits and coffins come in every size
Ask the men they'll show ya
How far they can throw ya
Funny how the money goes
Oh, you took him to the cleaners
With all the other dreamers
At the dog and pony show"



The Golden-Yellow Topaz was a powerful stone for the manifestation of personal desires and intentions of the will. The Rhodolite was a Garnet of Violet hue known for being capable enchanting weapons with intense potency if properly mounted upon them. Aeldre Feyblade placed both before the Altar of his Hero.

The valuable and rare gems had been pilfered from the Plague Rat known as the Mischief Colonel, and the haphazard dance of flashing blades, tumbling acts, sorcery-n-sword play of Feyblade and his companions that day made victory and these spoils possible. It certainly was not their best laid plans or elaborate preparations that made victory possible, for they went in without one or the other, and let the chaos of battle and chance direct them this way and that like rain water flowing across cobblestones in the street. It was all a matter of quick wits and big risks, a high wire act unrehearsed and without safety nets. Storming into that Plague Rat's nest was a fool's errand, and the first visceral victory and taste of triumph Feyblade had since suffering the tragic loss of his friends and partners within the dark dwelling of the goblin warlock's sanctuary.

It was reckless and rewarding in a manner that made his blood sing and his smile grow wide. It was an escape from the mistakes and shames of his decades past and the regrets of recent days. Here, within the Temple of the Seldarine, he had come to give thanks.

"Oaths have been made false,
Pacts have been broken,
Yet I danced the rapier waltz,
here to offer you these tokens."

"The broken glass
And the rusty nails
Where the violets grow
Say goodbye to the road
And the mad dogs of summer
And everything that I know

What some men will do here for diamonds
What some men will do here for gold
They're wounded but they just keep on climbin'
And they sleep by the side of the road"



With the silver medallion of the Lady of the Dance between his fingers, Aeldre Feyblade's thoughts reflected upon the old man, Riorin Olowenys. He thought about the man's broken right hand and busted nose. He thought about how it took two solid swings of the Watchmen's Rod to shatter those bones, and how much worse for the old timer it could have gone if Feyblade was not there.

"The old man was a parable, a living lesson of how it was going to be. You see, old man Riorin Olowenys was seventy-eight years young and had likely been picking pockets, pilfering purses, and clipping coins since he was a mere boy of eight or nine years. That there is something close to seven decades of well honed skill craft in the street sorcerery of market place magic, and where did any of that lead him other then down a road to ruin?"

"Old man Riorin Olowenys had been golden, he had been an earner who always brought his share to the bigger table, and never raised no muss or fuss. He had lived his life never taking more then was needed to avoid an honest days work, which believe you me, some days can be a lot harder then an honest days work. He kicked up his share, covered his costs, and lived a comfortable life never harming no one or no body."

"Then one day while home alone in his later years, maybe standing in front of the mirror brushing his thining gray hairs. Wearing one of those fancy lady dresses he liked to slip into behind closed doors to make himself feel pretty, and special...after a long day of being an invisable man on the street, Old Man Riorin Olowenys had himself an idea."

"Now maybe it was the rise of the Plague Rats that inspired him, or maybe it was an extra fancy dress he saw in some store window, or the immediate and impending doom of waves of negative energy washing across all of Waterdeep in the form of an undead army hell bent on blood and destruction? No one can argue, the neighborhood had been a changing, and maybe Old Man Olowenys wanted to spend his remaining years some place a little nicer then where he had found himself?"

"At the end of any given day, isn't that what most of us want? Something a little better than what we have? Streets a little safer? Winters a little warmer? Waters a little calmer? A better tomorrow for those we love, even if we only love ourselves?"

"Now no one was blaming Old Man Olowenys for what he had done, and many of us would have done it ourselves, but things being how they are it is rarely about right or wrong, this or that."

"He had started putting his hands in the wrong cookie jar, and developed a sweet tooth that would not quit, and so he just kept reaching in there time and time again, deeper and deeper, until it was to late to get away. It had become a habitual thing, and the cookie counters took notice and the bad baker wanted his due."

"It was not so much that anyone wanted Old Man Olowenys punished, so much as that was the way it was and had to be, for you see....if Old Man Olowenys got free cookies from the jar, why couldn't you or I? How is the bad baker going to keep his bakery open if you and me, they and thee, him and her, and all the lads a lasses were to stop kicking up and taking all the cookies for themselves?"

"Well we might sleep fat and happy tonight with cookie crumbs in our beds, but tomorrow there would be no bread to break, and the fast would last. There would be lean times for all, leading to the knives coming out and it would be meals of long pork for all, until there were none of us left at all."

"We need to remember Old Man Olowenys and his fancy lady dresses, broken hand, and busted nose. He is us and we are him."

Running a thumb over the engraving of the naked woman wielding her sword across the medallion, Aeldre Feyblade could not help put wonder which pocket Old Man Olowenys had pulled this treasure from over the years.

"Now you maybe asking what exactly was the lesson we need to learn here from the Parable of Old Olowenys? Well as it it is, like with many of the best Parables, there is no one Lesson, but several you can find and make your own should you decide."

For Aeldre Feyblade the story was one of warning and one of encouragement. First and foremost, do not get caught, but that goes without saying. Secondly it let him know that as distasteful as the Forsaken are, there are members among them worse then others, and last but not least, sometimes it takes two swings of a heavy reinforced club to break an old man's hand.

Now working with and being a member of the Forsaken did not make Aeldre Feyblade a hero, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it did allow him to bring a lighter touch to the table of otherwise heavy handed men. There are other members, like that chalky white Squint who would have gladly and eagerly killed Old Man Olowenys, and by comparison, only braking his hand, busting up his face, and chasing him out of town could be seen as having saved his life.

"I'm in the black, I'm in the black,
I'm in the black again,
Can't go back, can't go back,
Can't be who I was back then,
It's only me, it's only me,
It's only me outside your door,
Let me be, let me be,
I'm the one you're waiting for."



It began with a tingling within his toes that worked it's way up through every fiber of his being until he found himself weightless and floating within the eternal void of darkness that reached out never ending in all directions. He had become a formless entity of pure consciousness who's only sense of being was utter worthlessness in relation to the overwhelming sensation of the endless forever, and it was the most liberating sensation imaginable.

He was nothing, there was nothing.
He felt nothing, there was nothing to feel.
He was unburdened, because all burdens had become no more.

It was an unfettering from all of reality that ever was, is, or could be, it was freedom unknown and without form.

It was an opportunity to strip away from all of existence, existence it's self.

It did not last forever, nothing ever does, not even nothingness.

As he slowly came to amongst the soft grass and shady trees with the grinning smile of the happy wanderer across his face, Aeldre Feyblade took, no gave, himself a few more unhurried moments laying upon his back watching the clouds drifting through the sky above. He laid there upon his back slowly letting the sensation of being someone, of being something, of being someplace return to him. He let himself experience the of his own weight pressing his back against the earthen ground as he lightly ran his bare finger tips gently over the blades of green grass of which he laid. He felt the winds washing gentle over his face and watched how they made the leaves dance in the trees.

Midnight's Kiss was a hallucinogenic experience unlike any other he had ever had. It was the sort of spiritual and mind altering perceptional shift in his understanding of existence that it was worth spending some time with. He let him self lay there, relaxing, and comfortably embracing these places within his mind that had been opened, and grown. He let himself embrace the after glow the way post-coital lovers might continue to explore each other's bodies long after their more pressing passions have fled, and seek comfort in the continued presence of each others embrace.

Rumor was this was coming from Shadowdeep, and some customers were willing to pay as much as three hundred golden coins a dose.

Who was bringing it in to Waterdeep?

Who was making this chalky black substance that dissolves upon your tongue as it makes existence dissolve around you?

Did the Forsaken know about any of this or have any opinion?

There were a lot of questions without any answers at the moment, but that did not much bother Aeldre Feyblade there amoungst the grass and the trees.

Not much at all did much bother him at the moment.

Master Soosh had told him to keep his ears open and listen to anything related to the Shadow War, and Midnight's Kiss possibly coming into the Dock Wards from Shadow Deep did certainly seem to qualify as something related to the Shadow War. Eventually he would need to make water, and he would get up and pick a lucky tree for such, but until that time came....well he was comfortable and was going to just stay here for a time.

"Let me tell you something: I can't be beat
Oh yeah?
Yeah—'cause I'm the king of the street!
Well guess what, man: I'll pin you to the wall!
Oh yeah?
Yeah, your knife is way too small!
Hey! My knife is super sharp and that's what counts!
I'm gonna make you bleed copious amounts!
Yeah well I'll be sure to thank you right after I shank you!"



This was not the ideal team for the job, but the ideal team had failed, and lost members. As in, half of them died. The two survivors had gone their separate ways, and often Aeldre Feyblade thought about the gnome Jack with his overcoat full of uppers, downers, rounders, powders to make your staff stiff, and powders to make turn it into rope again. He wanted to check in on his old partner, make sure he was doing alright since ole Constable Tunny and Perspero died ugly to the foul Magics of the Goblin Arcanist. A larger part of Feyblade though knew better then to go looking for Jack, because if Jack was in a bad way, there would be nothing he could do to pull the Gnome out of it. Some questions were better left unanswered, and so long as he did not know Jack was suffering, he could imagine maybe, just maybe his old friend was doing alright.

For the moment though, Aeldre Feyblade was not overly concerned about Jack, so much as he was avenging those they had lost, not that it would bring them back or make their after lives any better. No, this was something Feyblade wanted to see done to make himself feel better. Putting down the Slimey Goblin Tribe's Warlock was a purely selfish pursuit of cathartic comeuppance. Hurting or weakening the evils of the Slimey Goblin Tribe's was a fine secondary effect, but the goal was good old fashion murderous vengeance, and to survive to enjoy it afterwards.

Looking over the team, Aeldre Feyblade had his doubts.

Valyar Floshim was a potent and capable elven sorcerer, but his peculiar detachment from what Feyblade would call reality always left him wary of what the unpredictable sorcerer may do or why he may do it. Small oddities that added up over time, like Valyar's almost romantic infatuation with the menagerie of horrors often occupied and surrounded the old Magister's House with it's unstable portals to other dimensions, or the way the Elf would rather inappropriately look at the broken and burning bodies left behind in the wake of his potent Evocation Magics and flippantly make casually remarks that sounded like a mixture of artistic appreciation and allure. Not only was Valyar Floshin extremely dangerous, but Feyblade did not understand him, not in any meaningful way, and that arcane potency coupled with unpredictability always left Aeldre wary of his Sorcererous Cousin.

"Look at how wonderful the carnage is."

No less troublesome was the albino hin named Squint, and his Wicked Sisters. The Sisters being a pair of matching Daggers that he had named so because his actual Sisters were as bad or possibly worse then Daggers, which were nothing more then tools used for making the murder. Not that an albino hin with forever squinting black eyes and a pair of Daggers named Sisters was not disturbing enough, oh no there is more! Most disturbing of all was the way Squint moved through life with his Sisters in his hands looking for any excuse to use them. Not that he had known Squint long, but Feyblade could not think of a single exchange of words with Squint that was not punctuated with the Hin either looking to kill someone or looking for an excuse to kill someone. In the world of knaves and rogues, there were all stripes and sorts ranging from true gentlemen bastards to simply murderous bastards, and Squint was certainly of the later lot.

"Are you making fun of me?"

These were, as previously mentioned, not ideal companions. Not for sharing a camp fire with and passing the bottle around. No these two were nothing but trouble. Thankfully the whole plan called for causing trouble, mayhem, death, and destruction. Beautiful carnage Valyar Floshin might remark as if he had taken a bite of a particularly savory dish. In that regard, this team had exactly what Aeldre Feyblade wanted to deliver onto the Slimey Tribe's Warlock, he just did not plan on going out to celebrate with the pair afterwards. He was not wanting them to die or anything, and was going to do everything he could to make sure him and his companions made it out win or lose with their lives, but he was not looking to spend his after hours with either of them.



It is always ideal when you can work with those you love and enjoy the company of, it really does make it all seem much more like play. Though sometimes compromises are made, and you find yourself beside some otherworldly sorcerer and a murderous ghost faced killer to do what needs doing. Not ideal, but effective enough when the only items on the menu you plan to see served are hot dishes of Wanton Fireballs of Destruction and Sisters Squint Syle Sliced Death.

For a long moment there with his hand over his own stomach wound, Aeldre Feyblade was pretty sure he was about to die bleeding out on the floor of the Sewers, or so he thought before he saw Valyar Floshin invoking a Fireball aimed in his direction. At least it will be quick, like Ole Constable Tunny went out. Just a hot flash and hello next world!

The relief felt when the fireball erupted short, in a gaggle of goblins just between Valyar and Feyblade, washed over him like warm fiery orange glow. Not that it did anything for his stomach wound and steady stream of blood loss pouring out of him. Thankfully for Valyar's next trick, he ran over and laid hand encased in a glowing glove bearing the marks of Kelemvor, God of the Dead, upon the place where the Goblin had stabbed him. First an Aurlite Cloak, and now Gloves of Kelemvor? Valyar's wardrobe, for as fine as it looked, and apparently function, was in need of some matching sets, or at least a uniting theme.

Was he in shock? Am I in shock? Why am I worried about Valyar Floshin's accessories and apparel? Where was Squint?

Getting back to his feet, Feyblade found the fighting far from over and there went Squint running this way and that with a pair of goblins hot on his heels while they snapped out jump kicks and bone breaking fist strikes in mad pursuit. Things were going poorly.

In the end though, despite the close calls, near misses, dueling a devil, Fireballs in close quarters from the enemy and allies, they were victorious! It was not the sort of heroic victory that would inspire any Bard to create an epic ballad, though I was definitely a comedy worthy bit of darling do, and thankfully not a tragedy.

"I can't seem to face up to the facts
I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax
I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire
Don't touch me I'm a real live wire
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est"



Standing there looking at the corpse, Aeldre Feyblade could not help but think about how wrong it had all gone. On a scale of perfection to all wrong, there were only some small saving graces that kept things from being totally, completely, unmistakably well and truly horribly wrong. Why a more vulgar person looking at the very same series of events might have said it was fucked, or even well fucked. This hypothetical vulgar individual would not have been wrong in their assessment.

A band of Adventurers who called themselves the Divine Ones, had a large treasure chest they needed opened, and word had gotten to the Forsaken, and a few of their members were dispatched to collect the service fee and spring the lock box open. This was supposed to be a really simple and straightforward customer service job, completely above board. It of course in turn, ended with four people dead. Well six people if you count the two companions of the Divine Ones who died orginally securing the chest.

Having talked it over a little in advance, it was agreed Milo Goodbarrel would lead the negotiations, and Aeldre Feyblade would back the Hin's play. They wanted to learn where the box came from, what was in it, and what they could about the Divine Ones, as well as collect their service fee. Squint showed up late, after introductions and pleasantries had been exchanged, and posted himself in a sentry position prepared to stabbed anyone he thought needed it. Not that there was any need for anyone to be stabbed. The Divine Ones had the fee on hand, paid in advance, and there were no signs of double crossing or threats.

Just some Heroes who needed a skilled set of hands to trick a lock open, and a small bag of gold to pay them for their time and efforts. Everything was as smooth and easy as a cool breeze on a summer's eve, right up until the chest in question was unlocked and found to be empty. Then all of a sudden alot of people got really emotional really fast, and previously silent and sulky Squint decided this was his opportunity to speak up.

Having felt cheated, having felt their two dead friends had died fighting for treasures that never existed. Having carried this box out of the Sewers and to the Bloody Fist Tavern, and then having paid gold to have it opened and found empty. The Divine Ones were noticeable upset. They accused us of some how having stole the treasure from the box, we had not. They demanded a refund, and we would have gave them one.

When considering one's status in the Adventurering community, good reputations, the potential for repeat customers, avoiding needless violence, and the potential legal troubles that could come from this scene turning into a blood bath, over what after being divided into shares and the Forsaken getting their cut was simply nothing more then enough to cover a good night's worth of rabble rousing, giving them their gold back was clearly the play to be made. We would be out some pocket change, and that would be that. Easy come, easy go. Win some, lose some.

Then Squint called the Divine Ones cunts, and suggested they use the empty box to bury their dead friends.

That is when the beginning of the end, began. We could have collectively made a break for it and gotten away with the purse, putting distance between ourselves and the Divine Ones. They would have been left sore and angry with no one to take their frustrations out on, and we would have been dividing the small spoils we had. Maybe they would have gone to the Watch and filed a complaint, likely not, and if they did....well there is a good chance it would not be taken seriously.

"So you got this Locked Chest from the Sewers, and you hired lock pickers to open it for you, and it was empty? What exactly do you want us to do about? Hey you all members of the Plumber's Guild, because there is a fine for going down there if you ain't."

The Divine Ones reached for their weapons, Milo Goodbarrel reached for the door, and Squint and I both reached for Potions. Mine was invisablity, and his was stone skin. Apparently Squint was not of a mind to make a clean break, and wanted to make a mess. He wanted to maybe kill all of the Divine Ones, loot their corpses, stuff all eight of them into the one box, carry them out through the bar, down the street and toss them in the ocean? Not a good plan.

The entire bar had seen them go upstairs, Milo and Aeldre had had a conversation with the bartender. Even if they killed every one of the Divine Ones, people were going to talk. Someone was going to remember there being an albino Hin and an Elf with red hair. This once simple service job had just turned into a blood bath, possible murder charges, and far more trouble then anyone needed over an empty box and a handful of coins.

While there was no time to exchange words, Aeldre Feyblade had imagined Milo Goodbarrel was internally asking himself the same series of questions. What now? How bad is going to break? How do we mitigate this? If they all kill eachother up there, maybe that is for the best? Maybe we can just walk away?

That is when badly wounded and blood soaked, Squint came running up bragging that he managed to kill three of the Divine Ones. Then suggested he ought to stab them both Milo and Aeldre for being such cowardly cunts. All of this with his twin Daggers, the Sisters, out in his hands ready for more of the old stabby stabby.

Not everyone was dead. There were survivors who would want justice, and they had enough corpses to get the attention of the Watch. This was about the worst scenario imaginable for what was suppose to be an easy peasy, open lock job. It was time to grab his things and go, it was time to flee Waterdeep and not look back. It had been a good run, he had meet some interesting people, made some good friends, lost some good friends, had some adventures, got to wear a few different hats in his time here.

That is when the routine Watch patrol rounded the corner and Feyblade had an idea. It was almost an out of body experience as his arm raised and his finger pointed at Squint. It was almost as if he could hear someone else shouting the words that left his mouth.

"THAT HIN MURDERED THREE PEOPLE INSIDE THE BLOODY FIST! I AM CONSTABLE FEYBLADE AND I NEED YOUR HELP TO ARREST HIM!"

The idea was Squint would go down in that street, knives out and lights out. Feyblade could write up a report, the Divine Ones would have their justice, the Watch would have their murderer, and nothing would come back on Milo, Feyblade or the Forsaken. That was the idea any way. Though when Squint decided to flee instead of fight, things got complicated fast.

Taking off in pursuit Feyblade left the Watchmen, murder scene, and Milo far behind him. There was no sign of Squint though, the little murderous hin had made a clean break and could be anywhere. Knowing there was only so long Feyblade had to tell his story before Squint showed up at the Forsaken to tell his, Feyblade used the failed chase as an opportunity to speak with the Forsaken. Time was short in every direction and he needed to move fast, talk fast, and try to think fast.

The new plan, the ever adapting plan, let's call it the ever evolving plan was something like as follows.

Step One, Explain to the Forsaken what happened, before Squint tells his side of the story. If he could get them leaning his way, that would be a boon.

Step Two, report back to the Watch House empty handed and start spinning the yarn that would prevent himself and Milo from being suspects or tied to Squint's antics.

Step Three? Well, step three was still in the development phase as Feyblade was trying to explain to the fat bastard Whyo what went wrong. Actually talking through what happened only made it all seem even worse then it had when it orginally happened, which was impressive when considering how wrong it all seemed at the time it happened.

That is when the curtain to the kitchen opened and Squint came in with his Sisters drawn. Now maybe there was a way to talk this out? Maybe there was some way to spin this where no one else needed to die?

If there was a way to un-ring the bell, Feyblade did not see it. He had fingered Squint to the Watch. He had declared Squint guilty of killing three people inside the Bloody Fist. The Watch were gonna have questions, and Squint's corpse was the answer. Unleashing a burst of Magical Missles from the ring on his left hand, Aeldre Feyblade reached for his Rapier with his right hand.



Now that he had killed a fellow Forsaken, inside the Guild House where there was to be absolutely no violence between members, and he had done it without permission. The conversation he had in Doxon's office afterwards went about as well as it could of, in that he was allowed to walk out of the office instead of being carried out. This was mostly due to everyone having known Squint was a murderous rabid dog, Feyblade's side of the story being the only one told, and Squint having been seen coming into the kitchen with his Daggers out and at the ready.

After stripping Squint of anything that might connect him to the Forsaken, and forfeiting his meager share to the Forsaken as part of his probation, there still remained the whole other part of this mess to see resolved. Carrying Squint's corpse into the Dock Ward Watch House, Feyblade declared he caught the murderer, and set to putting ink to page writing up his official report of what had happened.

Constable Aeldre Feyblade Dock Ward Precinct wrote:
Case: Bloody Knives inside the Bloody Fist
Name: Constable Aeldre Feyblade
Location of Incident: Dock Wards City Section 3O

Description of Incident: I had over heard rumors of a band of "Adventurers" named "the Divine Ones" at the Bloody Fist Tavern looking to hire a lock smith to open a treasure chest they had recovered from an "Adventure." I went to investigate to insure this "Treasure" was not stolen property and that the "Adventurers" were not criminals. I arrived there with two others who answered the call for lock Smith work, a Hin named Milo Goodbarrel, and a Hin named Squint, both are Adventurers I had seen in Kerrigan Court in the past.

Upon opening the locked chest and finding it empty, accusations were thrown about by the Divine Ones that they had been cheated. In response to this the Hin Milo Goodbarrel tried to peacefully leave the scene, while the Hin Squint began to insult the Divine Ones and provoking them to violence. It was clear to me that despite Milo Goodbarrel and Squint both being Hins, they were not working together.

Upon seeing Squint cut down three of the members of the Divine Ones Adventuring Company, I quickly ran to the street to use my Watch issued horn to summon support. It was then that Squint emerged from the Bloody Fist Tavern with his still bloody Daggers in hand and I pointed him out to the nearby Watch patrol. Unfortunately Squint was well prepared to make an escape and turned himself invisable and hastened his movement through magical Potions.

Fortunately I was able to respond by hastening my movement and see the invisable because of the Potions I carried. The following foot chase lead us through several cramped and dark alleyways of the Dock Ward until I finally cornered Squint to bring him in to stand trail for his crimes.

It is then that he began to turn into a wererat, as is common practice amongst the Plague Rats, and I was forced to run him through with an enchanted rapier. Afterwards I brought the corpse to the Dock Ward Watch House to report in.

Squint was annoyed. The rain had caused some of his jet black hair dye to run down the back of his neck. The stark whiteness of his thin albino's hair would soon be showing and he couldn't have that. This stupid job better be quick. "Go babysit Feyblade at the Bloody Fist" Whyo had said. "I got a bad feeling about this for some reason. Either that or some rube pissed in the soup again." the fat man grumbled rubbing his massive gut. Squint was even more annoyed as he passed the mirror by the bar of the Fist. His black freckles that he so carefully applied each day with lady's black eye cosmetics had begun to run as well. It made him so mad he almost kicked the bar cat as he passed. His Lord would be displeased if his 'mask" was not properly in place. As he trudged up the stairs Squint was convinced that someone would die tonight.

Squint's annoyance grew when he got upstairs. There was Feyblade talking too much as usual. And he had some soft handed mealy mouthed hin with him too. Were they here to open a bloody lock or rent boy service these "Divine Ones." Squint grew even more disgusted and ornery at their sweet talk and began to finger the pommels of his "Sisters." One was a Cherry, stem and all, the other a Berry, bumps and all. He had them made and named for his lovely stepsisters. There were few that Squint hated more, but his mood did improve a bit as he recalled their perfect little faces twisted with a rictus grin and perfect little bodies cold and broken, pink skin sliced to ribbons in a growing pool of blood. Now Feyblade was asking him to open the chest. Squint sighed as he noticed the elf positioning himself behind some of the Divine Ones. Clearly he thought the chest was trapped. Such a cunt.

When the chest was opened and empty it almost brought a smile to his face. "Look at the bright side" Squint said, "You have a nice sturdy box to bury your mates in." Their anger improved his mood even more, right up until one of them called him shifty. He had known someone was going to die. Somehow he was always right about these things. The adventurers started asking for their gold back and Squint's suggestion to "Fuck these cunts and let's go" was ignored. The soft handed sweet mouthed hin was practically on his knees bobbing to make the Divine One's happy again. Feyblade joined in and their spoken caresses made the bile rise in Squint's throat. When a few of the Divine One's drew steel he almost jumped for joy.

Six on three was not great odds so Squint quaffed a Stoneskin. Feyblade drank a pot and disappeared. Soft hin screamed like a girl and ran down the stairs. Squint had the leader wet and still in two strokes. The robed wizard went down next clutching at his femoral artery through his purple robes watching in horror as his life oozed away. It was then Squint realized he was fighting alone. Annoyance grew to anger. He slashed at the orc-blood to his left and the heavy armor to his right, but he was taking heavy hits and getting surrounded. He cut one more down from behind and finally felt a heavy slash from the orc as his Stoneskin faded and it was time to go. All three remaining adventurers were badly cut and bleeding and Squint made an obscene gesture as he somersaulted away and down the stair. He Quaffed and invisibility potion and ran out of the Fist.

As he came upon Feyblade and Milo the hin up the street he heard Feyblade saying "Did I say he was my friend." Squint considered gutting the hin in front of the elf real dirty and painful, then showing him his work so that he knew what would lay in store for him if he ever broke and ran on him again. His Wicked Sisters were out and dripping, but he just threatened the elf instead. Whyo said he had to work as a team, but boy did he want to hear that hin scream.

Then Feyblade screamed, for the bloody Watch! Bloody murder was what he was screaming and pointing at him. The coward turncoat bastard. For a moment Squint considered cutting him down right in front of the Watch patrol, but then he quaffed another Invis then a Speed, broke and ran himself straight to the Fat Man's kitchen.

As he ducked past the curtain Sisters still naked there was Feyblade. Squint wondered how the damned elf had beat him there and then a smile spread across his lips as he decided he would scalp the elf and wear his red mane like a wig for a while. Bolts of magic then flew from the elf's hand and struck him full in the face, cursing and slashing wildly he felt both Cherry and Berry draw blood, then he whirled and . . . .

. . . all was Shadow. A red fringed black velvet mask floated in the darkness before him and a voice in his head said "Welcome home Squint. You were right, like always. Someone was going to die tonight."

@Jmecha sorry for the hijack but I thought folks might enjoy Squint's perspective. To all readers, this was an example of totally spontaneous CvC between the characters of two players who have shared this game and lots of good times and laughs for years. Played totally IC and with no hard feelings and tons of fun had by all. ~OGR

"Everybody talks
Nobody understands
Everyone takes
Just as much as they can
But at the top of the stairs
There's a room with a key
'Cause I got a secret inside of me

And everybody's lost
And nobody is found
The pathway should walk
Across this treacherous ground
But I go where I like
And I do what I please
Because I got a secret inside of me
And no one can take that away"



Worshipers of Erevan hosted a Midnight Gambol once a month under the light of a full moon. Though the location of each Midnight Gambol was a secret, it was always held in a sylvan glade. Tonight beneath the new moon in the heart of the city, Aeldre Feyblade conducted a Midnight Gambol all of his own in public location with a bottle of sweet wine and an old friend. Now you maybe asking yourself how it is someone so dedicated to the Jack of Seelie Court as to wear his allegiance upon his arms would break so severely with established tradition, and the answer is rather simply that rules are for fools. Well that and the bottle he had in hand was far from the first of the evening.

Drink was offered around although only one of the pair seemed interested in finding the bottom of the bottle. There were some old songs sung, and even dancing. Though it was of the seated & swaying drunkardly variety with some good old fashion two handed off beat finger snapping thrown in for good measure. The tale that was told was a good natured yarn about following the Adventurer's Guild into Shadowdeep surrounded by companions he did not know well, or fully trust, and a leader who's orders he could not make heads or tails of even if had been held at crossbow point.

There was laughter at the embrassing missteps of the adventure and the embellishments that had gone into the "Offical Constable's Report." It was two old friends confiding in eachother, one a solid as stone true blue top quality listener, and the other a happy to be alive drunken fool pouring his heart out while struggling to keep his wine down.

There was a confession that it felt good to lay it all on the line to do something he believed needed to be done. There was a confession that it felt good to not be a coward. There was last but not least the offering of something beautiful, the scattering of potent magical dark crystal mirror shards taken from the Collector's inner sanctuary where he was slain.

Constable Aeldre Feyblade Dock Ward Precinct wrote:
Case: The Collector
Name: Constable Aeldre Feyblade
Location of Incident: Shadowdeep Tower of Dark Crystal, the Shadowdeep Analog of Blackstaff Tower

Description of Incident: Having learned that the Mystra Cleric Anovallis Starmantle had prophesied the Adventurer's Guild would all die and fail in their effort to confront and defeat the ancient Netherese Shade known as the Collector, I volunteered to offer to them my aid as a Constable of the Dockward Precinct. I did so well aware that the Shadowdeep Tower of Dark Crystal was outside my official jurisdiction but believed my training Officer Constable Richard Tunny when he told me a Watchman's duty to the safety of the good people of Waterdeep, the greatest city of the Realms, knows no limits. I accept any punitive judgments my actions may have earned.

In the company of the Adventurer's Guild Master Cornelius Tauber, and members Kharak Aza-DeDuin the Dwarf, Hin Druidess Birdsong, and Elven Sorcerer Vaylar Floshin, I lead the Adventuring team through the streets of Shadowdeep avoiding Legion Patrols where we could and by passing the numerous defenses of the ancient Netherese wizard's tower. Upon reaching the highest floor of the Collector's Tower I over saw the proper use of a variety of magical enhanced alchemical weapons to see both the Collector and all of his foul instruments destroyed. Only after the Collector was slain, his instruments destroyed, and the portal between the Dark Crystal Tower and Waterdeep sealed, did we return to Waterdeep.

While it is possible some of the shadowy apparitions of the Collector maybe persist mindlessly roaming the city to carry out the last orders given to them, the Collector is slain and will no longer be manufacturing and controlling the terrorizing of our city's citizens with his foul magics.