(From the night prior...via Message)

“Grish, do you mind chatting with me for a bit?” Rose pulled the creepy elf aside.

"I was beginning to think you didn't like me. What sneaking off with everyone else when no one is looking and all..."

“Well now it’s your turn,” Rose grinned. “I can’t become everyone’s best friend at once, you know.”

"Well, then by all means let's become more acquainted. What is it you'd like to know?"

“How can someone so smart be so stupid sometimes?”

"Well," he starts with a chuckle, "That's an interesting start. Don't take this the wrong way, but anyone else I would've had flayed, ripped apart, and scattered across a ten-mile stretch outside of town."

“I’m not most people,” Rose beamed. “I’m charming.”

"You can say I have a similar effect on people, I suppose. If you're looking for an open book or someone to spill themselves before your audience, I'm afraid there's more to it than that. This tome requires the reader to divulge as well. Secret for secret, truth for truth, lie for lie. Such is the way of Cyric."

“That is exactly what I expected of you,” Rose replied. “What do you want to know?”

"Where do we begin? How about 'Why are you here?' You don't quite strike as the Zhentarim type. Methods may align, but there is a whisper of more altrustic motives."

“Don’t mistake altruism for survival. I’m not as powerful as you, but I am almost as good at getting on people’s good sides as their bad. Playing nice and making alliances... that’s how I stay ahead.”

"An interesting approach, and one that I employ regularly. You say I am powerful, but it is only through such an art as you describe: the manipulation of others into doing your bidding. No one is more weakened than in betrayal." With a half-hearted shrug, Grishkar dismisses the subject for the moment, "I believe it's your turn now."

“No, see, you’re creepy. But I can’t imagine you actually using subtlety. Perhaps you’re so good that you have me tricked, but I think I have you pegged.”

"Perhaps. But allow me to pose a question: Where does betrayal begin?"

“The second trust is placed in a betrayer.”

With a knowing smile, Grishkar continues, "And I assume you are familiar with the Zhentarim's former patron deity, so I'll spare the rhetoricals. Trust and alliances are, in the end, always self-serving. Once the usefullness is depleted, then it is discarded. Betrayal is abhored because no one wants to believe that bonds are formed for self-interest."

“I only trust people to care for me as far as I can throw them, and I think we both know how strong I am. I do, however, trust people to take their own interests at heart. And you, my friend, make some choices that are decidedly against your best interests. I’m trying my best to figure you out so I know how to best handle you, but I also realize you’re far too smart for me to subtle.”

"If you can't predict where you'll be next, then how can an enemy?"

"Or a friend? I dig your creepy vibe, and I like the unstable persona you have cultivated. But sometimes it can be more of a detriment. I need you to trust me sometimes. I am always going to make the choices that keep me alive and hopefully give me some coin. Right now, keeping me alive means keeping you alive too. I hope that you can trust me so far as to do that. In return, I'll also trust you. You're a smart guy, I don't want to have to constantly worry about your mouth getting us into trouble. That sounds exhausting, no?"

"You've done good work so far and I can trust that you are not leading us to death yet. Deception wears many faces, and people often dismiss the insane. You'll find that I serve the Mad God in more ways than through rambling in the streets."

"There are times when your insane gig is going to serve us very well. I may use it in the future. Hopefully we can both rely on each other's talents when appropriate," Rose smiled at the agreement. "Now that that's out of the way, I have to ask, what made you decide to dabble in death magic?"

"You make it sound like a mask to be taken on and off," he gives a dismissive shrug at the change of subject, "The short version is that it chose me," Grishkar draws his large, iron-bound tome and rests it in the nook of how elbow, "The somewhat-longer version is that I sought connection to something greater than the mortal powersof this world. They answered in their own way."

“Perhaps not a mask, but we all make choices with respect to what others see of us. What remains hidden, and what you show changes depending upon the audience. Life’s a stage and we’re all just actors in the grand cabaret, and all that.”

"There are some who would shout the glories of their patron from mountaintops and defend any slight of honor to the death. I find those venerating less appreciated beings tend to work more inconspicuously. I don't go flashing my colors and a bit of unpredictability goes a long way to diverting attention." The comparisson to a play seems to cross his mind for a moment, "When everyone looks for a villain, show a victim. In a hero, a harbinger of doom. Lies are, after all, subjective based on one's perspective. In that regard, yes, I do wear many masks as they suit the need."

“I knew you were a storyteller at heart.”

"As you say, we are all actors and performers. See the marionette entertaining the children with their puppets. I am closer to them than, say, the travelling minstrel or singer. We all dance our dance for the gods in hopes of some wondrous reward. It's just that some aspire to one day write the play for others to perform."

"Isn't that what we're here to decide? Seems to me that you came to remove our masks and we have simply been waxing poetic on their natures instead."

“You are quite the poet,” Rosie laughed aloud. “I think it’s stupid to pretend masks aren’t a part of who we are. Besides, I asked you a direct question, and you went floral with your response. If you want straight talk, you’ll have to give some in return.”

"Who's to say that I wanted a direct discussionn? If I wanted that, I'd go talk to Lenore or Natah. As for who you are? A spy? A rogue with more than guile up her sleeve? Maybe one of these elusive Harpers I've heard mention of in the past?"

“You really think I’m Harper spy?” Rose laughed again. “I’m not one for organizations of any sort, and if you really knew me you’d understand how preposterous that accusation is.“

"Then enough about me, please elaborate." Grishkar permits.

“What do you want to know?”

"Where does that peculiar intuition come from? It seems that you trust some, but not others, but your schemes always seem to come at the right time. If others knew of a secondary avenue, would it not benefit the whole?"

“I trust no person’s word, but I do trust their instincts. I grew up an orphan on the streets, and when you’re trying to figure out where your next meal is going to come from, you learn what makes people tick. I know Rivvil is driven by lust and a desire to get even, and that means I have a pretty good guess of what he’s going to do. So what drives you?”

"Simply put: Power. There is power and opportunity in everything, and it's up to enterprising minds to see it. The Servant has as much to leverage as the Master, and the Ignorant can influence as much as the Sage." A finger creeps out of Grishkar's robes, masked by his hood, and scratches a spot on the elf's neck before retreating, "In that, I suppose, we are very similar. Everyone can give benefit, whether or not they are aware or willing." Grishkar opens a fold of his robes and begins to withdraw several books, "A text on basic necromancy, netherese journals, histories...these were what I took from our duergar adversary. To some, they are simple pages and words, to others they seem basic references. The clever ones are they that see these are glimpses into an enemy's mind and power."

“I quite like that sentiment, no matter how vague it may be. Everyone loves power, my question is why do you want it. I want power so I don’t have to worry about going hungry or being hunted ever again. What you want is power, the important part is understanding why.”

"If you really want to know, the why, it's for envy of the powers that be. I was taught the arcane, but I felt it was a shadow of true power. I then sought the divine and found them oddly disconnected. That is, until I came across this," he says with a pat on his tome. "When you experience ultimate power, how does anything compare?"

“I suppose I wouldn’t know.”

"Most wouldn't. When it sets in, it burrows until it can't be removed. In every moment of the day, it whispers and nags saying, 'They are weak,' and 'This is a mockery of true strength'." A moment passes before Grishkar continues with a philosophical sigh, "Do you want to know what sets someone down a path of conquest and dreams of apotheosis? Try coming into a family of faith only to have the high priest attack you, then be beaten within an inch of your life for days on end while the 'pious' work to extract confessions and demons from you." He spits the malice that had built up from the momories before continuing, "When they say 'Good' and 'Evil', all I see are worms and shit, only interested in their own self-glorification."

"Oh, so you were abused as a kid. That's a language I understand," Rose nodded. "Are you looking for revenge?"

"Abuse implies a history. Mine was more cause-and-effect, but I suppose it's semantics at this point. As for revenge? Not anymore." A wicked grin does not imply Grishkar has moved on and become a better person from the trauma. "At this point, my interests are purely out of self-advancement. Immortality is found in power, and it turns out there are three most prevalent in the world: Divinity, Arcane, and Monetary."

“Grish, deep down, we are all terrified and small, most scared of the very thing that hurt us as a child,” Rose replied. “You are scared of death, and scared of ‘holy’ men. That makes sooo much sense.”

"Huh, I didn't know fear manifested in infinite cynicism and unadultered malice. If that's the case, then I suppose so."

“Cynicism is a type of armor. It prevents people from feeling.”

Grishkar dismisses the notion with a wave of his hand, "Then may my armor never yield."

Rivvil leaves the barrel of gold alone and makes his back to the tavern obviously ready to leave. Rose followed closely behind while Chewie whimpered, both of them taking one last look of the barrel before exiting the cellar and relocking the door. The Zhentarim would claim it through taxes in the years to come.

Natah walks in shortly after and walks right up to Rivvil. "It'sss time to go. There will be no meeting at the chapel."

"Lenore, if you hadn't guessed, if I'm not plotting a betrayal, it's because I have no plans for us and you are likely the next one to fall. Betrayal implies a partnership to begin, then an eventual loss of purpose." Lenore grunted in response, not sure if that was a joke or an insult or a denial of comradery.

“I’m ready to go then.” Rivvil replies to Natah. She nodded and motioned to anyone else still in the tavern. They each gathered their belongings, bid their farewells to the Lodge's barkeep, and hopped onto the cart. Godiva bounded with excitement, a combination of the large amounts of coffee she had consumed and wanting to get back to the pampered life of a Steelspire. She kept her new longsword close, imagining encounters and other situations she could use the blade in. Veldyn arranged for his message to be sent before joining the others outside at the cart. All in all, it was a mission gone well.

All in all, the mission had gone well. They'd secured the trade agreement with Hannock, discovered vital information pertaining to the war efforts with Luskan, and revealed Luskan's connection to some cult with ties to the Shadowfell. In the midst of those shadows and hazy smoke, Valinara Erenelor, the High Cloakmaster of Neverwinter, stood as a piece in that largely unsolved puzzle, leaving more questions than answers.

The guards waved the Zhentarim caravan through the heavy, oak gates as the wheels sloshed through the snow which blanketed the ground and their surroundings. The caravan drew further away from the stone and wooden walls of Hannock as they left the mess some of them had made far behind them. As the day progressed, the snowfall diminished, turning more into a cold rain while their breaths fogged up into the air.

An hour or two passed before they came upon the slaughter they had first made, witnessing Grishkar's grisly display of Zhentarim power. The bodies had begun to rot, only slightly preserved by the frigid temperatures and snowfall which crowned the tops of the mounted heads on pikes. Moving past the scene, they trekked forward into the day. By the time dawn had begun to set, they'd reached the location where'd they camped the night after reaching the trio of cairns while journeying to Hannock. Setting watch and resting through the cold night, they awoke to find a sky clear of clouds, the sea of stars being swallowed up in the rising sun's light. It was a sight of marvel, as some couldn't help but think what those shining points in the night sky were and what they held. Most scholars believed the small, shining points of light to be like the sun which rotated around their own world. Some suspected that they were but holes in a tapestry, offering brief glimpses into a plane that was filled with light and energy. Others focused on the black spaces between the points, warning that only madness and insanity awaited those who stared too long into that blackened void between the stars.

The following days passed slowly as the sun and Tears slowly rotated around, one following the other in some eternal dance of darkness and light. As they drew closer to the coast and headed south, the snow which clung to Hannock and Noltengarde melted in the heat. While still cold, the regions closer to Neverwinter were warmer, just barely fending off temperatures fit for snow as autumn was coming to an end.

The Zhentarim reached Neverwinter just over three days after they left, reaching the city in the middle of the afternoon. The Tower Gate's porticulli hung high in the tops of the gates as the group entered a fairly long line of people, carts, and other caravans trying to enter the city. Peering over the throng of people, they could see a group of about a dozen soldiers searching wagons and taking papers from people trying to enter the City of Skilled Hands. About a half hour passed while the Zhentarim waited in line before they reached the front. A burly, decorated half-orc, garbed with the Neverwintan tabard, approached the caravan, looking at the driver and Godiva while another Neverwinter guard rounded to the opposite side, peering through the open windows allowing light and sight into the cabin's interior. "Papers and purpose of entry," the half-orc stated with grated down tusks, holding out his gloved hand in expectation.

And to all of our readers, I have an important announcement to make! We've decided to move this PbP exclusively to our Discord channel! If you would still like to read the story of the Zhentarim, please PM me here with your Discord information set up and I'll send you an invite so you can participate.