Torvald hunched over his bread and cheese, his body turned away slightly from the rest of his companions as they broke their fast at the Inn of the Dancing Sword in Gladehap. “He seems more sullen than usual,” Ember mused, but said nothing, as further inquiry would likely lead to a rebuff. Putting the thought aside, she asked if all were ready to depart for Wheloon, the next stop on their way to the bordering Kingdom of Sembia.
Making their way to the gates, two guards called the group to halt before they could depart. “Princess Alaxador says you are no longer welcome back into this city,” one of them said with a sneer. Guiding, or threatening, the travelers with their spears, the guards ensured they cleared the city gates with no attempts to return.
“I suppose we made an impression on the princess after all!” Naivara snorted as the guards turned back. This only strengthened her resolve to put an end to the evil dealings of this mysterious Circle of Eight. They put the town of Gladehap behind them and headed south, glancing back to make sure the princess had not sent one of her minions to follow them.
The sun was at its zenith on their second day of travel when they reached Wheloon. A quiet trading town at a crossroads of the Wyvernflow River and the Way of the Manticore, it had no need for walls or serious defenses. Weaving their way through the streets, they found their way to the Wyvern Watch Inn. Agril was the first to enter and wished he hadn’t been, as they were greeted by the shrill sound of bickering between two young women just inside. They must have seen him grimace, for they stopped when they saw the party enter.
“Greetings,” one woman said. “My name is Baerill Mhaerkoon, and this is my sister Asanta. Apologies for the racket – you see, we run this inn together and sometimes it takes some convincing for my sister to see sense.” Asanta rolled her eyes. “Anyway, how may we help?”
Ember, more amused than annoyed by the sisters, politely asked for two rooms. “Also, where might we find an apothecary or shop with magical wares?”
The sisters directed them to Hanno’s Herbs and Medicines, the apothecary in town. While there is no shop with magical wares, they suggested they may also want to visit Rallowgar’s Hardware, owned by Zenderose Rallowgar. Ember thanked them and the group made their way to the apothecary.
A bell above the door rang and a man with a kind expression on his face introduced himself as Hanno Minstrelsong. Ember asked abruptly, “Do you have any potions for killing people?”
Hanno’s face paled and his hands trembled. “No, I’m afraid we don’t sell potions of that sort here, madame. I’ll thank you not to make inquiries of the such in front of my other customers.”
“It’s all right,” Ember said cheerfully. “I only wanted to see if we were able to trust you. Do you have any healing potions?”
Relief flooded Hanno’s face, and he replied that he did not carry such rare items in stock. Ember then asked if he had sold any healing kits to people who had been abducted. Puzzlement furrowed Hanno’s brow as he replied that he had heard rumors, but there was no reason to think that there had been abductions in the town of Wheloon. Ember thanked him graciously and the group decided to seek out Rallowgar’s Hardware next.
The hardware shop was large, larger than any shop they had seen before on their journey. Hundreds of items scattered the shelves and tables, with no sense as to what might be found where. The goods were quite ordinary; no armor, potions, or magical items could be found among the mess. Only one side of the store appeared tidy where there was a good stock of ropes and wires, used to tie down cargo by the many merchants and sailors who frequented the town.
A man, presumably Zenderose Rallowgar, stood behind the counter, peering over a ledger with a quill. He glanced up as Ember approached, hand outstretched with the magical sphere. Removing his spectacles, he reached out to take it as Ember asked if he had ever seen anything like it. “If you turn it, money comes out,” she offered.
Zenderose turned it over in his hands a few times and asked if it was perhaps a magical object. When Ember confirmed this, the corners of his mouth turned town. He angrily handed the sphere back and moved to escort them from the shop, saying loudly that he did not deal in magic and wanted nothing to do with it.
Discouraged by this dead end, the party started to head back to the inn. All of a sudden, Naivara heard footsteps quickly closing in behind them. Turning, she found a young man, who said that if they were interested in magical items, to come to a meeting place after dark. After describing where to go, he took off back towards Rallowgar’s. “Zenderose must run a black market for magical items,” Naivara concluded. Her companions nodded, who had deduced as much themselves.
As they were eating dinner at the inn later that evening, another strange visitor came before them. He wore a deep blue cloak trimmed with white, and a white and blue skullcap adorned his head. Speaking slowly but deliberately, he asked if the group was interested in a bit of business – they had the look of adventurers and he was in need of their services.
“I am Tunaster Pranik, a priest of Mystra,” he said as the group invited him to sit. “I serve Mystra, goddess of magic, at a new temple at the outskirts of town. I am one of only a few priests.” He continued, “I received a less-than-welcome reception at this temple when I arrived, and I have a sense that there is something that is being hidden or concealed from me. I would like you to investigate and see if there is something else happening in the temple. It seems to me that when people go in, some never come out.”
The party, only mildly intrigued before, now took a more noticeable interest in Tunaster’s tale. Perhaps this could be related to the abductions! Deciding that the look of this priest was honest, they had no cause for doubt in the sincerity of his request.
“Moreover,” he carried on, “I am willing to pay you a sum of 2,000 gold, with 500 given upfront, if you will help me to thwart this blasphemy.” A bag appeared in his hand and jingled with the sound of coins. “I regret that I must leave Wheloon tomorrow for a period of ten days, but I hope that you will look into this matter while I am gone.” He set the purse with the gold on the table.
“Certainly,” Ember replied as Naivara reached for the gold. “Now good sir, let me share with you our tale.” Ember recounted the events that had happened on their journey thus far. Tunaster seemed surprised that so much evil had taken place; such deeds should be stopped at once. He thought their stories may be connected but he couldn’t be certain.
“I have heard of the Circle of Eight, and if this group comes to power once more, that could spell disaster for the people of this land. Take great care,” he finished, rising. Choosing once again to trust that their new acquaintance was being truthful, the travelers bade him farewell.
Now that night had fallen, it was time to meet their guide at Wheloon’s black market. They came to the side of a building in an alley by the river where a single wooden door stood. A slit opened and a pair of eyes asked what their business was. After a brief explanation, they heard a bolt slide back and the door opened silently.
They found a cavernous room with no windows, lit by a plethora of candelabra. Not many others were in the room, but none gave them a second glance; these were the types of people who made it their business not to ask too many questions about their customers.
The young man from the street asked what they were seeking. Ember, first glancing around, carefully pulled out the sphere. “We wanted to know if you could offer any information about this,” she asked. Pulling out a loup, he gave the sphere a careful look over.
“I’m afraid I can be of no further assistance in this matter,” he admitted with a sigh. “Nor will anyone else here. You need to speak with someone who is well-versed in magical artifacts such as these.”
“Where can we find such a man?” Ember asked.
“To the east in Sembia, in a town called Daerlun. He is an Elven wizard by the name of Leodor, with knowledge and insight far greater than anyone you may find here. I will write to him and introduce you,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Ember. “Now, could we trouble you to examine another object while we are here?” She pulled out the sword, saying, “You may handle the sword if you wish, but I will caution you to take care, as it harmed me when I first touched it.”
The man grasped the hilt and immediately his arm jolted, sending the sword clattering to the ground. Unphased, he reached down to pick it up again. “I supposed you did warn me,” he chuckled. He had never seen anything like it, he said, and wasn’t sure what its purpose was. It may be cursed, or even attuned to a person or type of person. He suggested they also show it to Leodor.
The group thanked him. Before leaving, they took a turn about the room to see if there were any useful items to acquire. Torvald bought an icy greatsword, Ember a Robe of Stars, and Naivara a pair of Boots of Elvenkind and some magical arrows. Purchases in hand, they made their way back to the inn, resolved to uncover the mysteries of the Temple of Mystra the following morning.
