Paulo similarly makes his exit, but unlike the other two, his eyes are still darting to and fro and his guard is higher than ever. He knows that just when you think you might have won is when you're in the most danger. 

Day 9, 1829 hours

You manage to make it out of the terrible Lich's dungeon. The fight above seems to be settling down based on the rumbles above, but it is still clearly still occurring. Meanwhile, despite one minor hurling rogue, you make it out of the tower without incident. Elonast, glad that you managed to get out, is still obviously saddened by the loss of a companion, no longer how short of a time she spent with him. As you exit the cave, Callbrax (seemingly not to notice both [what he assumes to be] the unconscious form of Ord or the pseudodragon) is waiting for you on the shore, scroll unfurled. “Stand still. This’ll only take a moment,” he barks before uttering an incantation. In a flash of blue light, you find yourselves transported to a circle of runes on a forest floor. Dark pine trees with enormous spider webs block out the sky. Injured and dead Harpers are laid on stretchers and the remains of skeletons, zombies, demons, constructs, and more litter the ground. Before you lies the monolithic tower of black stone that Zaldara calls home. The smell of flesh burning and ring of steel emanates from the place of horrors. Callbrax looks at you and gives you a grimace: "You sons of a gun actually did it... Well, we managed to hold her off, but only barely, and the casualties... I just hope this darned information is worth it. What's with mister dead god sage?" He hands Lesley a healing potion, which he assumes will go to what he guesses to be an unconscious Ord. Not noticing that Lesley consumes it himself. You see that most of the joy and glad countenance of the halfling has vanished. As you take in the full view you truly understand the extent of the casualties. There is almost nobody else who is able to fight, having fallen unconscious from exhaustion or killed by obvious burns and blights placed upon them. Callbrax mutters under his breath: "And that was my last potion as well. Darned Duchess!" He then runs off to begin tending to the wounded being one of the only still conscious people left. You would move as well when a voice cuts through the silence.

“Stay there!” calls the voice of Remallia Haventree. The elf stands behind you, her left leg crisp with burned flesh and her right arm limp and bleeding. She screams at the tower, “Zaldara! It is done! We have your spellbook!” Meanwhile, Paulo hears Elonast's voice in his ear in an almost melancholy tone: "What... what do we do? She's my master... but..."

An instant later, there is a terrible crack. Appearing before you is a woman with a face that is half beautiful, half skull. Despite her ragged breath and multiple fresh wounds, the Duchess of Rot is still clearly a force to be reckoned with. She points a hands and points fingers at Remallia, Callbrax, even Elonast, and lifts them high into the air, and promptly drops the elf, halfling, and her familiar back to the ground unconscious. The terrible, evil, lich then turns to you. “I ’ l l   t a k e   t h a t   b a c k” she says with a weak, but defiant voice.

What do you do!?

Lesley’s eyes widen, and widen, then squint. His teeth grit, he can feel them grinding away. Lesley begins muttering in Goblin, “I’m feeling very...” He reaches out a hand, “RUFFLED!” And casts Chill Touch To Hit: 21 for 6 necrotic damage!

Burning a Inspiration: 9

Blast!

Salazar, reacting on Lesley's cue, surges forward. "For Roaringhorn and Ord of Amaunator!" His intent is to push the foul Duchess onto her ass with his shield, but it is his neck that whips at the impact.  Young Roaringhorn's lungs empty explosively and his eyes bulge in surprise as his momentum is stopped cold by the Duchess, who grabs the shield, plants her hip, and tosses Salazar aside like one of the fabled monks of Kara-Tur. 
The begrimed noble rolls to his feet with a groan and prepares to make an attack as is always required by this gambit, but before he can find an opportunity to swing, a shadow steps forward to strike with his rapier. 

He begins a warning, "Paulo, have a care she is qui--" but Zaldara has dodged the rogue's blow and danced out of the way before either Salazar's warning or Paulo's rapier could strike home. 

Day 9, 1832 hours

Zaldara, The Duchess of Rot, grabs her book bound in humanoid skin and runs off, seeming to be incapable of teleporting she vanishes into the coming night and spider-web-woven trees. Eventually, one by one, several of the harper mages rise from their slumber as they come and gather around you. With statements of surprise, joy, and shock they cheer and applaud all of you. Remalia then proceeds to heartily congratulate you and gathers the remaining, conscious, unconscious, and dead inside of the large teleportation circle for one massive teleport. It is then when you all find yourselves in a campsite of sorts in what you can only assume to be another part of the Cloakwood. You see a very weary masked figure exit a nearby tent as you arrive, with the mask still covering her face she and Remalia go over to you and give you the utmost of gratitude. "I cannot tell exactly what you have done, but I assure you that your work shall not be forgotten. You have done a great service to both the Harpers and the realms. Now, hopefully, we can uncover exactly what's going on." As she sees the body of Ord that Lesley has been carrying around her voice gains a tinge of sadness. "Well... It seems that another has fallen. I had hoped that sending you below would have kept you out of too much danger, but it seems that nobody would be free from death this mission. I am sure that he fought bravely, and maybe one day he can be brought back."

(Assuming that you then inform her of what Zaldara told you): Syndra nods along with Remalia and then holds out a small bag to you all. You hear some clinking of vials inside and as you look in you see four vials of pink liquid. She speaks in her standard raspy voice, although it sounds a tiny bit worse (just a tad), to you all:

"Indeed. Thank *cough* you so much. *hak cough hak*" Remalia then pats Syndra on the back and says:

"Yes, now if we ever have need of you, I'm sure that we are can call on you again. Also, I would like to extend the offer of membership to the Harpers to some of you. We could use you to get even more information to ensure that the world stays safe." She then nods after your respective responses. "Well, do you have any more questions? Otherwise, you should be able to use the teleporter to get back to Baldur's Gate, although I wouldn't travel outside of the cities. The roads are getting progressively worse as all of the good guards are disappearing and the brigands are getting overeager... all the more reason to figure out where this affliction is coming from..."

“I believe having a few more friends in the world couldn’t hurt...” Lesley nods, “I humbly accept.” However, he is told Bugbears cannot join, and mumbles “Well... shrahk ro targ to you too...” Lesley listens to Remalia, “This affliction is evidently coming from Chult, a peninsula about a tenday from us.”

The masked figure nods along. "I *cough* have heard of this place before. It is apparently a *pause* land before time. *hack* Thank you very much for your reconnaissance."

“Of course. If you do not mind my asking... what’s next? This Chult, if it is the source of the death curse, then surely there must be something more complex than we realize happening. Something occurred to me when I was faced with Zaldara. She consumes souls with her phylactery. Now, before this, I had ruled out soul consumption on a mass scale, but now... I’m not so sure. I believe someone, another powerful creature, may be pulling the strings. I just can’t be sure yet...” Lesley says as he mattes out some of his fur and adjusts his glasses, “I believe this may be just the lead we need to rescue the souls of all that have been afflicted.”

Remalia places a hand on Lesley's shoulder. "Do not worry about that now. We shall have all of this under control shortly. We were making plans even before this assault. The information you have given us simply allows for us to act on them. Simply rest and recover back in civilization. Everything shall work out." She nods and gestures to the teleportation circle. "As for the rest of you. Any further questions?"

After discussing amongst themselves, Lesley steps forward, “No. I believe we’re ready to return.”

Day 9, 1841 hours

After nodding in agreement you all take the teleportation circle back to Baldur's Gate. As you leave the voice of Elonast rings in your ears as you hear a: "Thank you for your actions. Though you may not have purged my master of the corruption inside of her, you still had her (unwittingly or not) do something good. You are indeed heroes of brave hearts." Then with a flash, the forest vanishes and you find yourself in some kind of shack. A sleeping half-elven woman wearing dark blue robes with ends of silver immediately awakes upon your arrival. "Oh... Hello. I don't think I've seen you around here before. Umm... please quickly sign in and out. Thank you for using the Harper Teleportation Circle (tm)." The woman extends a board with a piece of paper along with an ink quill. After quickly writing down who you are, where you came from, and what your business is in Baldur's Gate the half-elf gestures for you to go through the door of the shack. Upon doing so you hear a strange, almost mechanical voice say: "They do not wish for harm. Access to outside granted." As the door opens you find yourselves in the docks district of the bustling metropolis, life still seems quite normal, even though your world has been flipped over for the last several days.

We're now going to do another cooperative roleplaying session. This is going to be over the span of four days, so I would like Lesley to do the first day, Paulo the second, Salazar the third, and Sog the final one. The characters should have no knowledge that they only have four days. In addition, they were instructed to stay inside of Baldur's Gate.

Feel free to post!

Salazar, hearing the High Harper tell a life-long sailor to “stay off the roads” makes eye contact with Paulo and, for the first time since entering the basement, gives a soft chuckle. "Where we're going, we don't need roads.  Do you think we can find a swift ship?"

Paulo looks sullenly at the ground before looking back to his friend. "You thirsty, Sally? We may be under a very caring house arrest, but I've never met a wine that couldn't take me places."

"Paulo, close friend that you are, I’d think you’d realize by now that men and women bound to the Lord’s Alliance by their blood are all under a “very caring House arrest” from cradle to grave." Salazar delivers the line with an earnest, wry smirk. Under his bedraggled moustache, it is not a dignified look.

“So are bugbears, except we have tree arrest," Lesley rumbles.

Salazar looks up to the Harpers who are still working on removing casualties from the teleport circle. "Lesley, while the Harpers make arrangements, may I pull you aside so that you, Paulo, and I might palaver?"

"I... suppose." then to Paulo, "Palaver? Who speaks so? Very strange." Paulo rolls his eyes and nods.
Stepping just a few yards from where the Harpers are staging the casualties for teleportation, Salazar motions for Lesley to stoop so that he may speak quietly.
As Salazar pulls Lesley aside, he speaks quietly, quickly, and with an earnestness that clearly communicates the truth he believes he is sharing.

"Sally, Is this the time?"

"This is an important point, Paulo. You left your forest and chose your lot, Lesley. That is a freedom I do not know. Mind that you are not snared in the Factions’ games against your will. Any of the Five Factions can put you in a pinch faster than any Dragonchess Master. Don't believe me? Ask Paulo. SEER beat him five times in a row once."
"Simultaneously," Paulo ruefully admits, "but she's clairvoyant, so it wasn't really a fair match. She's a professional cheater!" 

Half a breath is all he allows himself as Salazar tries to give his new friend very important advice. "Any wandering or carousing I do? Always in between or on the way to whatever “favor” “marker” “quick task” or “tiny bother while you’re in the area” that Daddy Romero or Dear Nuncle has found and not managed to push off onto one of their vassals or armsmen or a merchant’s factor. At times it’s worse than being an employee because they are paid wages in addition to expenses & are sent based on skill not on surname. I rarely have much in the way of pocket money and have even fewer choices.”

Lesley’s eyes are wide with fear of the short, mustached man's message. “... allllright. Duly noted...”

“Forgive my zealotry in this point, my friend. Those who Harp have already thrust you into a literal undead torture chamber. If you wish to travel further on this quest to save your Professor and the Dwarf, do it. I mean it. I simply encourage you to make them provide all the help they can.”

Lesley holds the scrolls a slight bit closer and his face grows thoughtful.

"Between you and me, I will not be shocked in the slightest if we return to Baldur’s Gate and my Nuncle and the High Harper give us a pat on the back, and with some reinforcements that they have already staged, pack us off to this “Kault” place before two days have passed.” Paulo nods in agreement.

Lesley raises a finger, “..Chult. The fricative is not...” but is cut off. 

"If so, I am pleased to travel with you friend. You saved Paulo and I from that Specter and I shan’t forget it. I doubt he shall either."

“I appreciate that Salazar, but I could’ve done more..."

“I apologize for interrupting you so frequently. I will remember my manners when we are not pressed for time." Salazar removes his glove and offers a handshake to the massive wizard. "Well met, Lesley, Mage of The Coldwood. Long Days and Pleasant Nights.”

Lesley smiles, “Indeed. Well met Salazar Roaringhorn. Person of many traits."

"Unlike Fancy Sally here, I am a member of the Lord's Alliance by choice; Not by birth." A glance a Salazar and another to the Harpers, and Paulo continues.  "And thus, have a more balanced perspective as a result. Ironically, they tend to pay me more than they pay Sally because any pittance they pay him is a joke compared to his father's stipend."

“I see... my, politics are more prominent than I realized...”

"Yes, you are unique, as is my friend Paulo here, as was Ord. That makes you far more powerful pieces on their board than the pawns like I. Remember it, and we may manage to set ourselves up for success."

"Enough bloviating, Salazar. Let's get out of here."

"Yes, shall we return home... Or would you prefer to stay in the triage from the death cellar?"

"Baldur's Gate is not home, but all the same aye. I do not believe we made reservations and even if this stretch of ground was let to us, the price we've paid means the rent is too damn high. Let's go find a hot bath and some mulled wine."

“Dear diary, greetings and salutations. I have some most interesting news today. I did it! I finally got around to summoning myself a familiar. He seems quite energetic. He’s a fey spirit in the form of a bat. He doesn’t seem to talk much, so I named him Merk. As you know, that’s goblin for ‘Quiet.’ I believe that this is a result of a beautiful friendship. Salazar and Paulo seem to be quite busy celebrating life. They invited me for drinks, but I believe Merk and I need to practice some things... In more dour news, I am growing doubtful of myself again. Ord’s death hangs heavily in my mind. I myself almost died as well. I am looking into the possibilities of ensuring that does not happen. Would you believe that I even considered asking Zaldara for help? Of course I put the idea far from me, but I question if the world needs another transmutationalist... perhaps I will join Paulo and Salazar for that drink after all. I need to get out of my head. Besides, I’m sure they want to meet Merk. Who wouldn’t like Merk! Until next time.”

The following dawn arrived and found Paulo already exploring the streets of the Gate. Paulo was used to drinking late and rising early, a testament to the odd hours kept by any who have manned a ship for any time at all. It is also where he learned to stealth about quietly so as to let his crewmates slumber.

Returning to the room, parcels in his arms, he found it much as he had left it.  Salazar's snoring rose from the corner, extra blankets his defense against the intruding sun. Lesley---Paulo had been pleasantly surprised---didn't appear to snore. During Paulo's earlier defenestration, the lanky, hirsute wizard was also fast asleep, one enormous arm still tucked protectively around the tankard he had made prodigious use of the evening prior. Merk's bright eyes had shone from the mug's interior. 
The wizard was awake now, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses as he perused the scrolls given him by the Lich. The bat was snoozing in a dark corner of the writing desk. 

"Good morning Lesley! Care for a biscuit?" Paulo cheerfully greets him. "Fresh from the bakery! And a strawberry from Goldenfields for Merk."
"Oh? Why yes, that does sound marvelous. And how considerate you are, thinking of Merk!"  Lesley's bat happily flutters down to gorge on the small red fruit.

"Couldn't forget him with how you kept carrying on about how smart he is. I half expected him to be the wizard by the end of the night, with you as his familiar, the way you kept carrying on about him," Paulo teased. 
"He could be. He's very bright."  Lesley's eyes twinkle with the joke.
A groan rose from young Roaringhorn. "Uhhhf, Paulo. You're dressed. Where are you off to so early?"
Tossing Salazar a pastry, Paulo took a massive bite out of a sandwich in his hand. "Already went. The bakery. Had the knives sharpened. And also a tailor. I needed a consult for the new tunic I want after seeing one in a shop window. Leather with crystal embedded at the joints, embroidered silk sleeves in burgundy and trimmed in gold. Can you imagine?"
Looking mildly appalled and still very asleep, Salazar spluttered, "You did all that? Yourself? So early? That's inhumane."
"It's almost highsun, Sally!" Paulo coughs back through a hunk of bread. "You've been asleep for ages. Come. It's time to go see more of this infinite prison of a city, maybe meet a pretty Balduran lass or two amongst the inmates."

The three whiled away the afternoon, venturing off in pairs or singly as errands and piqued curiosities warranted. Evening brought them to the Temple of Lathander and it's small shrine of Amaunator. By unspoken agreement, the three filed into the shrine and paid their respects to the deity of their dearly departed Ord. Ord's corpse was half covered by a sheet as priests and acolytes were anointing his flesh with oils and preparing it for internment at the next dawn.  Lesley lit some incense, while Salazar showed respect with an offering of his last Amphailan gold stallion. Paulo burned a copy of a poem he and Ord had written together on the sea voyage to that cursed lich's cave.

Paulo had laughed at Death enough times in his short life, but this time, it felt like Death was laughing back. Hot, shameful tears filled his eyes and it wasn't until he felt Salazar's arm wrapping around his shoulders that he realized he was shaking, silent sobs wracking his body.

As they wound their way out of the temple square and slowly back to the inn, Sally gently punches Paulo's shoulder. "Remember that time we wintered in Silverymoon?" 

"Vaguely, but pleasantly." Paulo cracks a small smile. Salazar smiled back.

"Remember the violet wine? the '57 from that vineyard near the treeline?"

The one the Lady of Sundabar liked to pair with those unique candies to heighten its effect?" Paulo laughed aloud this time. "I don't remember much of that tenday after we drank it. What are you...?" 

Salazar impishly pulled a bottle out from under his coat. The cork was red with wax and parchment glued to the bottle bore a purple and silver crescent moon. "Galdfrey found some of those candies in a shop just down the way. If you've no objection to getting a little wild, maybe forgetting just a little bit. for a little while..."
Recognizing the familiar call to action, Paulo grabbed the bottle from his friend, broke the wax seal and unstoppered it.
"Let's get wild." Popping the candy into his cheek and lifting the bottle to his lips, his mouth started to tingle as the shimmering violet liquor slid down his threat and immediately started to warm his belly.

It isn't that Salazar was unscrupulous per se. He wasn't even naturally given to duplicity. He just hated seeing Paulo so overwrought. It did not take a diviner to know last night's ceremony would be rough on his friends. He'd be fine. Second funeral in a tenday, How can you be fine? his doubt whispered in the dim light.  But he hadn't really known the Professor Barsavi or the Cleric Ord, had he? He didn't need consolation, just his best friend.
   At least, that was what he told himself when he asked Galdfrey to add the bilja sleeping dust to the bottle he had offered Paulo. To some extent, Salazar felt that Paulo would deserve any short lapses in memory beyond his grief. He didn't like being right any more than he had liked being sure the son of the Dread Pirate Drakashka would drink straight from the bottle just to rile him up.  Yes, sullying a fine vintage imported from Silverymoon had warranted a bit of mischief, but Salazar found himself awake even later this night with a heavy conscience. The fourth bed in their room lay empty and Lesley had carried the foot locker from under Ord's bed to the Twin Songs temple district, making the vacuum solidify further.

"It should have been me," Salazar whispered. To whom? Kelemvor? The Red Knight? Helm? He didn't know. "The damn thing should have been targeting me, not the holy man."  Merk flapped one wing, but that was the only reply he received. "Do you have the time, Master Merk? Is it 11th bell yet?" Salazar smiled at the familiar. He was becoming fond of a bat. Fond. of a bat? Things were most definitely escaping his comfort zone. It was time to do something about that.

   Even encumbered with a burgeoning depression, it did not require great stealth to sneak out while Paulo was nearly incapacitated by Galdfrey's handiwork. Lord Amphail's Rusty Suspenders! He been difficult to carry upstairs, even with Lesley's only slightly intoxicated help. Salazar was pleased to see that Lesley was sleeping deeply but showing no ill effects from the mischief.  He really liked the furry fellow, even if he threw factoids better than fireballs. That lightning arc had been just the thing when they needed it, though and it had earned Salazar and Paulo's loyalty forever. He opened the door and slipped out, his longsword giving off a tiny thunk as it bumped the wall.

"And how do your companions rest, Young Master? Like cherubic babes, I trust?" Galdfrey murmured from the shadows of the hallway. His eyes glittered with mirth, looking decades younger than the face that held them. 
"Just so, Galdfrey. Thank you for your help. I was... quite unsure." Salazar stepped to the stairwell and the older man slipped up to walk with him, their riding boots making perfect whispers on the way down.  "Bugbears are so very different. I'm always worried I will accidentally poison him or something because his kind will have some allergy or another that I don't know about..." Salazar nodded to the cook, a massive woman who may not have ever slept as she was always awake to begin preparations for the day.
"Sally, Magister Lesley would be quick to point out that you are thinking of the tales of Bullywugs and Ale, not of Bugbears who are assuredly goblinoid. Your father has a signed copy of the new Volo's Guide to Monsters if you'd like some light rea--"
"No, no," Salazar cuts him off as they exited into the moonlight of the stableyard. His face showed his confusion to see but one mount at the hitching post. "I'd rather learn from Lesley. I trust him to tell me the truth and we need something to talk about while we wait." A shake of the head has changed he subject. "Now, where am I to meet the fair Valette? The Helm and Cloak? The Splurging Sturgeon?  What she knew last night was very helpful, but I need more information if I am to escape this plot."
Galdfrey grimaced as he swung into the saddle of the only Amphailan Grey in sight. "You cannot escape duty, Salazar! You need to think of more than you and your friends... and the admittedly lovely and most eligible Lady d'Orien. Your mother approves of your interest, there."

A sigh precedes bad news they often said in the Finishing Schools of Waterdeep and it was true here in the stableyard of The Three Kegs also. "The Lady d'Orien has sent her regrets, my dear Salazar, but she is required to attend a ball at the du Fete manor outside the city with the other Knights of the Unicorn.  She was polite enough to offer a verbal invitation, but we both understand that she knew you could not leave the gates this evening or would have sent something in writing."

Salazar grew quiet as he thought. "Not a whisper escapes her and though I have little patience for social niceties, I do remember your lessons, Tutor of Mine.  My do the Factions talk in the Gate. Every redknife and fang seems to know a piece of what's going on. At least all of the gate guards, merchants, any mage strong enough to use a circle..."
"Ah. That. I did look into finding a non-Enclave Druid that might be able to Transport via Plant." Galdfrey adjusted the reins in his hands. "Not a one left in town. Several dispatched to look into this curse business. None have yet returned and that is news all of its own." The pensioner adjusted his coat next and looked to be ready to ride away, but unable to summon a reason to depart.  
"I do believe Father has me sewn up this time," Salazar admitted sadly. "I will be jumping into this truly as blind and unprepared as Paulo thinks I ever am."
"Yes, Salazar. I rather think he does. You've eluded the larger share of the tasks he's requested over the past three years. Even he admits that hiding amongst Uthgardt was an unexpected move.  An acolyte of the Red Knight he may be, but reuniting you with Paulo virtually pinned you in this corner of the board and under his thumb again. Wherever it is he looks to place you, it will be revealed tomorrow. Perhaps the day after. He's had three messages from the Harper and two from the Alliance, one delivered by Hsing."
"SEER's Hsing? The pseudodragon? This is serious." Salazar puffed out his moustaches. "They'd better send another pair of hands. Three if they can be spared. Someone good with a bow or a lance. Another arcane practitioner wouldn't be amiss either."
"Experienced reinforcements are quite scarce at the moment. Of that I am sure. I must be off and you need sleep, Salazar Shieldsworn. Your eyes are as red as that silly trophy you've hung up in your room. I taught you better than that." The former instructor's tone is warm and not in the least bit chastising.
"Thank you, Galdfrey. Are you sure you will not travel with us? You are still phenomenal with a quarterstaff or spear." Salazar's hope was evident in voice and countenance.
"Young Master. You know that my days of combat are long past. The Baron saw to that." The Roaringhorn's major domo, spymaster, and third-cousin on his mother's side ruefully rubbed at an aching hip. "Treat my flail well. It saw me through four campaigns with your grandfather. If I do not see you before you leave, Salazar, you know that you take the thoughts and prayers of your family and the House with you.":
"With Swift Hooves and Strong Shoulders, Master Galdfrey. Thank you for all you do. Give my love to Mother and.. well, everyone."
"and to the Lady Valette," he teased, before the aged horseman responds, "Long Days and Pleasant Nights, Salazar, son of Romero. Remember the face of your Father. For the Alliance, for Amphail, and for House Roaringhorn." then to the patient stallion, "Hup, Forgewright. Take me home."

Salazar was still standing in the stableyard ten minutes later when Cookie stepped out for fresh air. He smiled at her.  "Cookie, you surprised me. If you would, have one of the lads climb up and leave a parcel with two biscuits and some marmalade on the outside windowsill of our room? and a few fresh berries for Merk?" He smiled tiredly as he moved back to the Three Kegs' warm kitchen..
"Oh, Young Mas'er." the matron of the Kegs chortled. "You been overtaken by a Trickster spirit these past few days? That's dreadfully sneaky and a right proper prank on that handsome pirate you pal around with. I'll have young Cuthbert do it afore fulldark is ended, and he'll be thrilled to do his part!"
"You are a Queen of Pastry. A Lady of the Larder. Your generosity is the envy of three pantheons."
"and you are too fond of your own words and not nearly as earnest in your flattery as your brother or the pretty young Lady d'Orien, nor even that Hobgoblin Wizard that came through yesterday. Get some sleep, Mas'er Roar'nhorn." Knowing when he is overmatched, Salazar resigned this contest, and retired himself back up the steps and into a warm bed.

Salazar managed a few hours of sleep before the sun crested the edge of the window by his bed. He pretended a dreadful hangover just as he had yesterday. He smiled a little to see a pot of marmalade and a few crumbs on a chair in front of the window.  Paulo had left again, probably to pick up that leather jerkin he was so excited about, No way it would be ready before tomorrow.  Lesley was pouring over the lich-wrought parchments again.  Magic seemed like so much work. Why didn't people skip studying and just do magic? Some of them could, he thought. 

His eyes ran past Lesley's ink-smudged finger-fur and came to rest on Ord's bed. The melancholy returned.  The Powers That Be had better send them some help. A lot of it. That or send them on a milk run. That'd be fine too. Maybe liberate a small village from some goblins. something that'd take a couple days but would let them winter as celebrated heroes in relative comfort.

Salazar pulled the thick blanket to his chin and smiled as he began looking forward to a long stretch of cool weather. Yes, cool weather and a warm inn would be just fine.

Nightwarden Report - shipbuilders’ quarter

The night was mostly quiet. We chased off a couple of cut-purses from the Lunar Market. And closed down the stall of a money lender who didn’t have the proper writ.

The only incident of real note was a brawl at the Fattened Lamb tavern. A couple of rowdies started a fight over allegations of cheating at dice. They were heavily intoxicated. And stunk of cheese. They were also ranting about the light or something. The big one tried to bully his way out of trouble with grand statements and dire warnings about his family’s importance. In Amphail or something. Mostly he just wanted to cry. The little one was quieter. Though he did try to quote Waterhavian law as a precedent for “public’s justice” against the alleged cheaters. It would have been more impressive but for the slurring.

Senge reckons they had a giant, diseased dog with them.

Tomb of Annihilation

Chapter 1: Port Nyanzaru

Part 1: The Masked Reveal 
Day 13, 1315 hours

You have been invited to the home of Syndra Silvane, a retired adventurer, and merchant. A uniformed attendant leads you up a grand staircase to the third floor, then ushers you into a wood-paneled room with a fireplace, comfortable chairs, and a heavy table bearing goblets and bottles of wine. The darkly paneled walls are hung with maps and sea charts. Racks, shelves, and cabinets hold hundreds more rolled-up maps and charts. A person is seated in an overstuffed chair near the fire. You then see - as she turns around in the chair - that it is the masked figure from your previous mission. She then speaks to you once more in a terrible raspy voice that sounds even worse than last time: “H-Help yourselves to wine *COUGH*, and seat yourselves, friends — I *PAUSE* hope I may call you that. I sincerely *HACK* would like to thank you for your *PAUSE* tremendous work with Zaldara. It is *COUGH* thanks to you that we are preparing to send out several groups between the factions and ourselves to the *HACK* location that you found. Based on more communes and *COUGH* we have managed to determine that this is all due to a necromantic artifact called The Soulmongerer Any *PAUSE* questions so far?” The silver mask looks over at you all expectantly.

”None so far. I’d like to hear more before I confirm my suspicions.” Lesley’s own research of Zaldara’s notes and the effects of phylacterys on souls was beginning to show fruits. If this Soulmonger was the source, then they finally had a target. A very dangerous one at that.

Salazar sits, fishes in his doublet and brings forth a small tin.  "I have some candies from Silverymoon, Master Merchant. The Lady d'Orien suggested you might have a fondness for sweets." He peeks into the tin. "One of our House servants secured these at great difficulty. Would you care for one? I'm told they have medicinal qualities when mixed with a mulled Amphailan Red such as you have set out."  He smiles broadly. "As for questions, perhaps you'll forgive my poor aptitude for arcane concepts, but who or what is a  "Soulmongerer?"  A fishmonger sells and trades fish. Is someone truly selling devices that take souls?"

Paulo unsuspicuously palms a candy from Salazar and pops it into his mouth. He shrugs at her mention of questions.