Barty's "Tyranny In Phlan" (DDEX1-10)

Auriel is pleased to see that his little deception has worked like a charm and smiles slightly because of this, but otherwise remains silent as Hildigrim and Carl are doing a fine job at interrogating Spernik.

Spernik swallows hard, sweat running down his temples in rivulets as his eyes dart between Hildigrim and Carl. "Whether or not she was bound for Phlan means nothing," he argues. "Were it not for my correspondence, The Maimed Virulence could not have struck at such an opportune time. The Lord Regent could not be left alive to form resistance, and I made certain his death!"

The blue haired Eladrin smirks after the cleric’s last sentence. "This should be fun," he mutters.

He crosses his arms and leans against the nearest wall, waiting to see whether Hildigrim or Carl will deliver the news to Spernik — if they decide to share it at all.

OOC: DM, you may have missed my question in my last post. Has Hildigrim ever heard of Severin before?

Hildigrim listens without comment. When Spernik finishes, the halfling’s expression does not change. “Made certain?” he repeats quietly. His head tilts a fraction. “Curious phrasing.”

He takes a slow step across the room, glancing briefly toward Carl and Auriel before returning his attention to the bound cultist. “Because the Lord Regent is not dead.” A small pause. “If your plan required his death ... then something went wrong.”

His fingers lace behind his back again. “Which raises an interesting question.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Who failed you?” Another pause. “The Banites inside the Black Fist?” he suggests lightly. “Or the assassins you trusted to finish the work? Perhaps the devil we scared away?”

He studies Spernik carefully.

“After all ... if Severin truly restored you for your brilliance, I imagine he will be very interested in learning of your incompetent.”

OOC: Apologies for that, Hildigrim has not heard of Severin.

“Because the Lord Regent is not dead.” A small pause. “If your plan required his death ... then something went wrong.”

"What are you talking about?" Spernik snaps back. "The Lord Regent was at Valjevo Castle with the guildmasters and nobility for their conference. I saw what happened to the Castle. Nobody could have survived that. The report was confirmed."

“Which raises an interesting question.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Who failed you?” Another pause. “The Banites inside the Black Fist?” he suggests lightly. “Or the assassins you trusted to finish the work? Perhaps the devil we scared away?”

"You-you-you talk as if you understand how these things work," he stammers. "You don't. You know nothing."

“After all ... if Severin truly restored you for your brilliance, I imagine he will be very interested in learning of your incompetent.”

Spernik's glare falters for the briefest moment. "The Maimed Virulence holds this city. Phlan has fallen. That is what matters. The Black Fist has rotted from the inside, and any who are capable of turning away the Tears of Virulence are being hunted down and slaughtered as we speak. You have lost."

Hildigrim watches Spernik bluster. His face remains impassive, but behind his spectacled eyes, his mind races through a thousand variables. He has half a mind to ask Auriel to render their captive unconscious again so they might confer as a group.

They have already lost too much time.

He wants to sigh. He does not. It is time to turn the conversation.

“We’ve lost.” the halfling says. He measures his tone carefully, allowing neither sarcasm nor doubt to slip through. “So you’ve captured Phlan.”

“Phlan,” he repeats, almost to himself. A faint frown touches his lips. “A surprising choice.”

He begins to pace slowly, hands clasped behind his back.

“A fractured city. Rebuilding. Politically unstable.” A small shrug. “Useful, perhaps ... but hardly indispensable.”

He glances back at Spernik. “If Severin wished to make a statement, there are far greater prizes along the Moonsea.” A pause.

His gaze sharpens. “So I find myself wondering ...” Another beat. “Was Phlan the objective ...” A slight tilt of his head. “Or merely the best he could do?”

Bit by bit, Auriel feels his patience wearing thin. As Spernik's rambling pauses, he steps forward and places a firm hand on Hildigrim's shoulder, guiding him just far enough aside that the cleric cannot hear them.

"We need to finish this, Hildigrim," he murmurs. "We can't keep him any longer. The Lord Regent and the others are waiting of us. Ask what you must, but be quick."

A faint frown creases his brow. His grip tightens, just slightly.

"You know what comes next for Spernik," he adds, his voice low and steady. "There is no sense delaying it."

For a brief moment, the Eladrin's cold gaze flicks past Hildigrim to their bound prisoner before returning to the Halfling.

Then he releases him and steps back, allowing Hildigrim to resume his questioning, though he clearly hopes it will not last much longer.

"Phlan is, is, is just a taste!" Spernik retorts. "You think the Moonsea is the only target?" His following laugh sounds more like a question mark than an emphasis to his question, his eyes nervously watching Auriel murmur to Hildigrim.

Auriel is right. Spernik’s time is up. If they had more time, he might yet yield something of value. But they do not have more time.

Hildigrim’s hand rises, almost unconsciously, to the Harper’s pin fastened to his tunic. His fingers brush the silver crescent and harp as Olisara Lightsong’s words echo in his mind: “Spernik must die.”

His jaw tightens. He looks to Auriel, then Carl. “If we kill him ... what prevents Severin from simply restoring him again?” he asks, ignoring Spernik.

His gaze shifts to Hex, drawing her into the question as well. “If he was worth bringing back once, what’s to stop them from doing so a second time?”

Carl looks at Hildigrim with a grim look on his face.  “Aye, you’re right.  But perhaps one way we could stop it - is to take his head with us.  I doubt any magic could bring him back if he didn’t have a head on his shoulders.  So.  If it must be done, let’s get on with it and get out of here.  Who strikes the blow?”  Carl looks up at Auriel, Hex and Hildigrim, still holding crackling energy in his hands.  

Hildigrim locks eyes with the dwarf, a scowl crossing his face. But the scrutiny is not for Carl — it turns inward. Who strikes the killing blow, indeed. Taking an enemy down in the chaos of battle is one thing. Cutting down someone bound and defenseless is another. What would Father say? Or Mother?

His hand rises, almost reflexively, to adjust his spectacles, buying himself a heartbeat more to think. “It’s my responsibility,” the Watcher says, barely above a whisper.

The words seem to settle something within him.

With a slightly trembling hand, Hildigrim draws his rapier. He turns, stepping in front of Spernik, and places the point carefully over the cultist’s heart. He locks eyes with the cultist, willing his face to remain stoney.

Auriel steps toward Hildigrim and takes hold of the hilt of his rapier. "I'll help," he says quietly. Then, without hesitation, he drives the Halfling's blade deep into Spernik's heart. For a fleeting instant, the motion pulls at an old memory ... 

He withdraws the blade and lowers the body to the floor. Taking up his halberd, he positions the edge with practiced precision. One clean stroke, and the cleric is beheaded.

"No need to take the head with us. We could just burn it," he says after a brief pause. "It won't prevent resurrection by the most powerful means, but it will make it far less likely."

The Eladrin looks to the others. "We need to go. The Lord Regent is waiting."

OOC: Nice, Fair. Good times.

Hildigrim starts to speak. Auriel drives his rapier forward. The word dies in his throat, escaping only as the beginning of a vowel before steel meets flesh and the moment is gone.

He steps back, silent now, as Auriel withdraws the rapier and moves with grim efficiency. The body is positioned. The head is taken.

Hildigrim watches ... says nothing.

When Auriel suggests burning the head, the Watcher’s mind immediately turns — leverage, surprise, proof — each possibility flashing through in rapid succession.

But he does not argue. Perhaps the time for mind games is over. There is a dragon.

A dragon.

The halfling gives a small shake of his head, as if clearing water from his ears, and looks to the others.

“What do we do now?” he asks, voice steady but tight. His narrow focus widens now that his duty to the Harpers is complete. “How do we fight a dragon?”

OOC: What a fantastic callback!

Spernik's eyes remain indignant throughout the discussion, as if he's calling a bluff. Only when Auriel's hand closes on the rapier does his face display the realization that his life is about to end. Then, along with the thud of the halberd blade striking the floor, his head rolls clean from his body.

OOC: Each character has received 100 XP for slaying Spernik and completing the Harpers' request.

Carl looks up, considering Hildigrim, saying “We don’t.  We get out, make sure the Lord Regent is safe, and get away from here, regroup with someone who can.  Thas what I’m thinkin…”. He looks down at the head on the ground, saying “Who’s carryin tha?  Somebody should, and we should get outta here.”  

"You can carry it, if you wish," Auriel replies. "I'd burn it and be done with it, but I don't particularly care what happens to it."

The paladin doesn't wait for Carl's decision. He is already moving through the door, making it clear he has no intention of carrying Spernik's head.

He considers arguing, but ultimately gives in to logic.

Hildigrim flicks the cultist’s blood from his rapier before sliding the blade back into its sheath as Auriels departs.

“I don’t trust it,” he says quietly. “Even burned — if we leave the skull, what’s to stop them from using it to bring him back again?”

He opens his pack. “Check his pockets,” he suggests.

Reaching inside, Hildigrim withdraws his stolen gray cloak. With a barely concealed grimace, he wraps the severed head and tucks it away.

His eyes drift once more to the parchment-strewn desk. He doesn't feel he's had proper time to study them. He cannot leave them behind. He snatches a discriminating handful and stuffs them into his pack.

When it’s clear the body has been stripped of anything useful, the halfling moves toward the door.

“Hurry,” he urges. “Let’s catch up.”

Nothing of value is found within Spernik's pockets, and after Hildigrim grabs a few select pieces of parchment from the desk, you find your return trip through the gate to be as empty as it was when you first sought Spernik.

The Lord Regent's influence on the crowd of prisoners is evident when you return to the courtyard. He is still issuing orders when you arrive, having apparently organized the rescued townsfolk in phalanxes of nine that can maneuver together through the streets of Phlan. He has also recovered the body of Knight Aleyd Burral from where she fell nearby. She has been placed near the barricade and is laying in repose, with her arms crossed over her chest. The stoic man nods after he turns to see your arrival, looking upon the head of the slain dragon cultist. "It was never in doubt," he says, clasping arms with any who take him up on the offer. "Had you brought him to me alive, I would have executed him on the spot. Too many have suffered for his plot."

"What of the dragon, m'Lord?" Hildigrim asks immediately. "And what of the rest of the turned Black Fist?"

He wants to ask if the Lord Regent has heard of Severin, but decides the other tasks take presidence.

"Where can we be most helpful?" the halfling asks.

"We should perhaps focus on escorting the survivors out of the city. It is important to think about retaking it at some point, yes, but… what worth is retaking a city if there is no one left to retake it for ?" Auriel says.

"Shouldn't we bring these people," he adds, gesturing to those who were captive along with the Lord Regent, "to the Laughing Goblin so we can take them all out?"