Chapter 63
“Pardon me, your brother? We need to discuss this further, but now is not the time.” Gesturing to his mother’s casket, “We have other priorities. Besides, you’re all fresh from battle and I’m sure you would like sustenance and rest. You can stay here if you wish, as my guests.”
The five adventurers nod their heads in agreement to the offer, while Elden expresses his desire to return to his own home.
“Of course, Professor Keyward, my driver shall escort you. For the rest of you, my staff will show you to your rooms, where you’ll find warm baths, food, and drink. Until the morrow.” With a flourish of his hand, a servant ushers them through the mansion and to their rooms.
Each of their spacious rooms consists of a bathing area, sitting nook—complete with shelves full of books—and a large boudoir. The rooms are lavishly adorned with decorative vases, ornately carved furniture, elaborate oil paintings of various people and scenes, and thick, soft carpeting. Grindlefoot found himself walking barefoot around his suite, digging his toes into the luscious rug and enjoying the velvety sensation.
The companions sleep well through the night with dreams that are peaceful, yet have a hint of oddness.
Gven dreams of her childhood with her brother, Torp, and how protective and thoughtful he was; she cannot understand how or why he has changed.
Mond and Dolor see the monsters of Shadowfell that they’ve fought, but from the creatures’ perspective; each wakes pondering the journeys we all take.
Bilwin returns to the market in Evernight to taste Sangora’s fermented sanguinary and feels slightly tipsy when he wakes.
Grindlefoot dreams of Newmy and her quest to clean the Dolindar’s crypt, hoping that she enjoys her labors in the afterlife.
By the time they wake, the sun has been up for hours, yet Lord Neverwinter welcomes them to a splendid breakfast in one of the smaller dining rooms.
“Please, sit and enjoy breaking your fast with me. Unfortunately, my day is busy and I have many questions for you, so we must also use this time to talk.”
The nobleman begins with thanking them for their services and offering them a significant reward. They are deemed honorary citizens of Neverwinter, allowing them unrestricted passage throughout the town and region, along with the respect of the community. In each of their rooms is a bag of 1,800 gold coins, something to tide them over during their stay. Lastly, his staff places a small silver platter with a deed of trust in front of each adventurer.
“I realize that Neverwinter is not your home and that likely burns at the peacefulness in your souls. But, while you must reside in our fair city, I assure you that you will have comfortable accomodations. These five properties are in the Bluelake District, not terribly far from here, and each has a lovely house which you are welcome to call home, for as long as you like. Make no mistake, you own them and may do as you will. We are grateful for your service.”
“Now, my barbarian friend, tell me more of your brother.”
Gven sighs heavily, hesitant to trust this stranger, yet understanding that their stories seem intertwined. She proceeds to tell their tale. What feels like years of adventuring side by side and building the bonds of friendship, has only been months.
As if a damn bursts, the words flow from the usually stoic half-orc. She describes how she and her brother, Torp, grew up in the grassy plains of The Badlands of Eritz with the Sky Bisons tribe. How Torp left for his Coming Out journey, to see the world and find his path, but never returned. How she questioned his whereabouts and fate, eventually embarking on her Coming Out, with the goal of finding him. How she met Dolor, Grindlefoot, and Xantic on the Ha-derech. How they became known as Chimera’s Bane while fighting off an oppresive hill giant’s goblin army in the small town of Wayside. How Mond and Bilwin joined their group in Wayside, while Xantic chose a different path forward. How her brother finally found her in Elsemar, but he was someone she didn’t recognize; the leader of a cult and crime organization, going by the name Davanor. How they sailed to Amonah in search of answers, only to find more questions about a god named Aish and to be suddenly transported to Neverwinter.
Sipping a spiced tea from a delicate porcelain cup, Lord Neverwinter looks to each of the companions in turn. “Alas, that is a story of hardy friendships, overcoming trials, and making great discoveries. I will make certain the names of Davanor and Aish are circulated amongst my networks. If we hear anything, I’ll relay the information to you, no matter how trivial.”
Resting his gaze on Gven, “And remember, we are not our sibling’s keepers.”
The adventurers spend the next two months settling into their homes and learning the city. They discover that their minds and bodies needed the rest. Sleeping on the hard ground, eating dry rations, and walking miles day after day after day—not to mention constant battles—wears on a person, be they human, elven, dwarven, orcish, or tiefling. The angst of waiting to hear from Alustriel Silverhand about returning home began to lessen with each passing week.
Their row of homes are situated next to each other, lining a short street that ends in a cul-de-sac and is only a block away from Bluelake. While not large by Lord Neverwinter’s standards, they’re more than big enough for adventurers used to carrying their worldly posessions on their backs, day in and day out. The homes are built close enough that one could pass a jar of marmalade or a stein of ale from one window to the next, which the companions often do, especially Bilwin and Grindlefoot.
On the backside of the structures is a shared green space that separates them from a narrow alleyway by roughly thirty feet. Some of the companions have made the space their own, such as Grindlefoot, who turned his portion into a lush vegetable garden where he also planted his magic beans. Alas, they did not shoot up into the clouds and lead to further adventures.
Remembering the passion he has for his chosen craft, glass blowing, Dolor constructed a glory hole—a high-temperature furnace used to melt the sand, soda ash, and lime into molten glass for shaping. In the evenings, as Dolor works the glory hole or shapes glass on the bench, the companions usually gather around, lounging in mismatched wooden chairs they purchased from various vendors and share their thoughts. Other times, proximity with each other is the only goal and they sit in silence, experiencing their own thoughts, individually yet together.
After the first week, Bilwin realizes they might be there for a while and that dishes don’t clean themselves, beds get messy, bathrooms get dirty, and all manner of housely things need doing. Oddly enough, as the dwarf comes to this recognition, there’s a knock at his door. He opens it, as one usually does, to find a human woman standing there, exuding an air of graceful authority. She’s average height with a narrow build, at least as much as the dwarf can tell of humans, has a slightly narrow face with a petite nose, large blue eyes, and a naturally pursed mouth. A modest, ankle-length dress reveals her low-heeled, highly polished black leather boots. Keeping the chill away is a sensible, dark-colored long coat slightly nippeded at the waist with a high collar. A simple straw hat adorns her head. She holds an umbrella, actually more of a parasol, in her left hand and a large decorative cloth bag hangs from her right shoulder.
Before Bilwin can speak, “I hear that you need some help around here.” Leaning forward slightly and peering into the dwarf’s home, “Yes, yes. Desperately so, I see.” Pushing past the uncharacteristically speechless dwarf into the entryway, “My name is Eva Brightbroom and, much to your fortune, I can start immediately. Tell your companions that I shall be available to assist them, as well. You’ll discover that my talents are broad and exceptionally useful. Now, if you will, please show me to my room. I need to settle in and prepare for this afternoon’s tea. And, for the sake of my congenial mood, close your mouth, unless, that is, you’re trying to catch flies.”
Without any rebuttal or commentary, Bilwin shows Eva to the extra bedroom. As the days progress, the companions come to not only appreciate Eva’s extensive knowledge and impressive abilities, but to rely on them.
She often traded her dress for trousers and a blouse to spar with Gven, more often than not besting the half-orc with whatever weapon was handy, even her parasol. “Pay attention to that left foot, dear. It won’t move itself.”
Unexpectedly, her architectural and engineering were indispensable to Mond as he retrofitted a basement into his cottage, among other extensive remodeling. While the exterior remained similar to the others, the interior became a mystical maze of the arcane. Somehow, Eva kept every single corner and nook free of dust.
Grindlefoot and Eva would quiz each other on the history and usage of herbs and plants. The halfling druid failed to stump her, but she brought several new ones to his attention. When asked how she learned of them, she responded pertly, “I never explain anything.”
When Bilwin began brewing unusual flavors of beer in his kitchen, Eva was instrumental in designing a small system that could mash the grain in half the time before moving it to fermentation. She also figured out how to efficiently siphon the beer into small kegs without disturbing the trub at the bottom.
And Dolor discovered her artistic talents one day, when she quietly took the jacks from the tiefling and began to shape a particularly long piece of molten glass attached to the punty, creating an intricate and beautiful flower vase. “Practically perfect in every way.”
The adventurers grew to love Eva in a way they couldn’t really explain, yet felt deeply in their souls. After the first few weeks, Bilwin prepaid Eva three hundred gold coins—a lifetime’s salary—so that she wouldn’t have any worries in the likely event they were suddenly whisked away, back home or to another adventure. The dwarf went so far as to rewrite his will and testament so that she would receive his home and a portion of his estate.
With time on their hands, the companions often find themselves walking amongst the various shops and vendors, seeing if anything catches their eye. With plenty of coin in their pockets, there are many options.
Dolor finds a reputable armorer who specializes in leathor goods. With some persuasion and gold, the tiefling purchases the owner’s favorite set of studded leather armor. Sewn into the outside of the armor are small copper pieces from different townships and regions in various planes. Looking closely at them, he discovers that each one is heads up, granting the wearer luck.
At a renowned cordwainer’s shop, Gven negotiates with the short yet stout gnome for a pair of Boots of Striding and Springing. While explaining what the boots can do, the gregarious gnome’s wild hair moves about violently, briefly revealing its pointy ears and covering its large eyes. “You’re going to love these! You can carry a heavy load, encumbered if you will, and still walk at your normal pace. Oh, and when you jump, either across or over something, you move three times as far and high! It’s amazing. I tried them—because of course they magically resize to the wearer—a few nights ago when I was doing inventory and couldn’t reach the top shelf. I was bouncing around here like a giant jack rabbit!”
One afternoon, while sitting around Dolor’s glory hole with the others, Grindlefoot looks at his old farming staff and thinks to himself, “I don’t use it to till the soil anymore. It needs a little something special to mark its new chapter in life.” Inspired by Dolor shaping molten glass from the blowpipe, a thought comes to mind. The next day, he finds a blacksmith who works with fine instruments that require a magical touch. The halfling presents his simple staff and asks him to carve a pattern over it that resembles plants and nature, then complete the filigree with pure silver—to help battle the undead, which they seem to do quite a bit of.
Bilwin realizes that in all of their battles, he hasn’t had a way to protect himself from attack, except for standing behind Gven. For weeks, the dwarf scours the blacksmiths and armorers for a shield. Not just any shield, but one that Hanseath reveals to him. On a cloudy day, walking through a small market area along the north side of Bluelake, a bright glint of light catches the corner of his eye. Walking over to the small booth where it originated, a particularly inebriated dwarf is sitting on a stool, looks up at Bilwin, and nods in greeting. Peering around at the motley assortment of metal goods, he notices a round metal shield partially hidden behind a rusty coat of chain mail. Bilwin points at it and gives a questioning look. “Aye, that one’s a special order by a good friend o’ mine who never picked it up. Funny thing, he said there might be another fella at comes along who might be a better fit for it. The Bearded One drank a beer with it, sang a rousin’ tune, and then called it the Sunburst Shield. Aye, ye look like ye’ve fought the undead a time or two. This will help ye next time. It can shine a light as bright as daylight once a day for ten minutes and the undead really don’t like it, if ye know what I mean.”
After a few months of living a comfortable life in Neverwinter, the group is gathered around Dolor’s backyard while he designs his latest creation—glass flowers for Eva. The neighborhood and town are quiet on this early evening. The birds are serenading them and they can hear the croaks of the bullfrogs from Bluelake. A few passersby use the narrow alleyway, taking a shortcut from one place to another, most likely heading home after a day’s work.
Suddenly, the kiln’s fire flares brighter than the sun, followed immediately by complete and utter darkness. None of them can see the others. No one can hear any sound around themselves. There is no floor to stand on, only a dark space to float inside. Time stands still or goes on forever, they do not know which.
Eventually, with no idea of how long they were in that state, the group finds themselves standing in an ornate parlor. Able to view their surroundings, they look around to see a heavy gold settee, several elaborately carved armchairs, two glass-front curio cabinets along the wall filled with delicate glassware, heavy drapes drawn wide around the window revealing lace under-curtains, and the walls covered with gilded mirrors and large oil paintings of countrysides.
A tall human woman with a slender figure, long silver hair, and sparkling blue eyes stands in a doorway, seeming surprised to see them. She’s wearing light blue robes and holding a thin, dark, wooden staff topped with a unicorn’s head.
From behind the woman, a bald man with a hawk-like face pokes his head into the doorway.
“Well, fuck.”
During their downtime, Mond has taken to Gustaf’s habit of drawing maps of their travels and adventures, including the most recent, City of Neverwinter.
