Torment and Reward (City of Splendors #2)

Zloton,
This is extraordinary. I can hardly believe it, but I suppose that is a lesson in how basic decency may have unforeseen rewards at the end. If only it was a lesson *you* would take to heart.
 
But I get ahead of myself, for who speaks of reward before clarifying what was even done? I’ll continue from where I left off which was a pair of sleeping tied up Kenku.
 
Pete went upstairs to investigate, and found an origami bird that a detect magic spell from Nettie revealed to be under some sort of transfigurations magic. I need to remind myself to look at it later. It would be terribly inconvenient if it turned out to be a flying snake in disguise.
 
The rest of us stayed down to interrogate the Kenku. However, all our rational bribes or appeals were useless. Only when Pete returned, munched on a dead kenku wing, and threatened them did they suddenly become very talkative. They crowed the following repetitions:
"no time to loot the place. just take him to the boss."
“follow the yellow signs in the sewers.”
"tie the pretty boy in the backroom.”
“Xanathar sends his regards.”
 
We parsed out the meaning well enough. It seems that the Zentarim and Xanathar’s guild are at war. The Zentarim kidnapped the noblemen, but these Kenku, working for Xanathar, killed them, and took Floon for their own. Some of their party must have forwent looting and took him directly to the boss. Yellow signs in the sewers lead to where them must have gone.
 
As for “the pretty boy in the back,'' I decided to investigate. I went into a backroom filled with barrels of based on the smell: pickled herring. Pete and I tried some.
 
It was decidedly over salted. Interesting nonetheless.
 
As I investigated this fish closet, I heard the faintest evidence of someone breathing. Realizing someone was hiding in one of the barrels, I silently beckoned everyone over. Can’t be too careful after all.
 
Thankfully, when I threw back the tarp, it was not a foe that we encountered, but Renaer Neverember. He and Flynn have apparently met, and the fact that they drift in similar social circles tells a lot about him, I think.
 
At first I mistook him for Floon; an error he did not hold against me. It seems it’s a common enough mistake seeing as the Xanathar Guild themselves took Floon thinking he was Renaer. Why is everyone so interested in Renaer, you ask?
 
Well, apparently Dagolt Neverember, Renaer’s father and the former corrupt open lord, is rumored to have possibly embezzled money from the Zentarim.
 
Naturally they wanted to find their stolen money, and they thought Renaer knew where Dagolt hid it, despite it being public knowledge that he is estranged with his father and cared nothing for his business.
 
They also believe that they can find their money with the “stone of goloor”. Not sure what it is, but it sounds concerning.
 
The Xanathar assassins apparently also have an interest in that wealth, seeing as they took Floon. When the fighting began, Renaer, still tied up, hid in the barrel, since he understandably did not want to be found by whoever won. No doubt the Baron did not find him because of the fish odor overpowering the smell of man.
 
Now though, after I prestidigitated away the evidence of his unpleasant hiding place, he asked to join our hunt for Floon, claiming responsibility for his kidnapping in the first place. After I asked him, he confessed they were close. He was his escort? Something tells me I do not know the full weight of the word. Further research is required.
 
As no one objected, he joined the party. After tonight, I can safely say I am pleased with his manner. He was civil and competent as a comrade and if I knew his favorite flavor, I would gladly give it to him.
 
While I found Renaer and his fish barrel, Ristrien found a secret ten by ten room containing 2 crates. One crate contained four gilded frame paintings, one of Neverwinter, one of Balder's gate, and two others I can't now recall.
 
The second crate contained 15 ten pound silver bars. We later learned that they are worth 50 dragons a piece. Such wealth! Flynn was pleased naturally.
 
That’s when the City Watch showed up. We briefly debated whether we should lay low or talk to them. I argued for stealth. I can feel your shock, Zloton. Me? Lawful and honorable me wanted to hide from law enforcement? My intrinsic sensibilities are inclined to agree with your surprise, but your family is an excellent if unwitting teacher. I no longer have complete faith that the law will take my side without irrefutable proof, and I did not believe we had such proof in regards to our innocence toward the massacre in just the next room.
 
Renaer assured me he had dealt with the City Watch before and that it was better to face them than be discovered hiding. I dropped my stance, acknowledging him the more knowledgeable in this, and I am glad I did not fight. The guards were perfectly civil. Their leader knew Renaer and let us go without so much as a pat down. Good thing too or else he would have found the bars we took.
 
We asked the captain about the sewers, but he told us some waterdhavian saying to the effect that the guards jurisdiction was the streets. They did not bother with the sewers.
 
Well, our company decided to make the sewers our jurisdiction. It took a little time to find. Around then Pete expressed his desire to go back to taverns because he was thirsty. I gave my waterskin the flavor of ale and gave it to him. He gulped most of it down eagerly. I’m not sure he was aware it was not what he tasted, but he seemed sated and pleased with me so I’m satisfied.
 
We eventually entered the sewer from a cleaners entrance and very quickly found a palm sized circle with ten spokes coming out of it, written in yellow chalk along the wall of one side in a fork in the sewer. Figuring these were the ‘yellow signs’, we followed them, taking the choice in each fork or intersection that was marked by yellow chalk.
 
Many seemed revolted by being up to their knees in the sewage, but having prestidigitation in your back pocket makes you somewhat indifferent to such things.
 
An hour trudging through the foul water and taking the marked turns later, we were confronted by a floating eye stalk. Ristrien tells me they are called Gazers. According to her, they are theorized to be brought into existence by a beholder's dreams. The beholder could even see through them. Fascinating. I'm so glad I got to see it.
 
Hmph. Perhaps, I should curb my delight. It did try to kill us after all, and if it allowed a beholder to see us, we needed to kill it. Easier said than done. The eye shot beams, yes, *beams*. One almost immediately hit Flynn, apparently attacking his mind or something, but he shook it off. Pete could not so easily shake off the second beam, which sent him flying into the wall.
 
Ristrien than missed her shot, and then so did I. You better get used to reading that Zloton. I had rotten aim today. It was so poor, it actually makes me want to practice being a wizard. Yeah, it really was that bad.
 
In this fight however, I was in equal company. Nettie missed a shot from her sling. She inspired Flynn, but even his sword swing missed. As did Renaer’s.
 
The Gazer shot a beams at both of them. Renaer suddenly seemed frightened, but Flynn again shook off whatever threatened to come over him. Perhaps he would have preferred to be stunned. It may have lessened the pain as the Gazer’s teeth sunk into him.
 
It was not all completely catastrophe. After recovering from being briefly intimately acquainted with the wall, Pete hit it dead on with a thrown hand axe. Ristrien’s second spectral purple book made solid contact, as did Nettie's sling. As she was using her bardic powers to motivate Ristrien to pull it off again, I hit my own shot and it fell frozen into the sewer water.
 
For once, Pete decided not to eat it.
 
Don't get used to it, either Pete's sudden uneasiness or my aim. This is the *only* time I land my shot for the rest of the night.
 
We continued onwards until we came to a circular bare space that some of us perceived had arrow slits in the walls. Prudently we assumed there were archers lying in wait, so I raised the sewer water and froze it over the slits, blocking us from any possible archer’s view.
 
We search and Pete finds the hidden entrance to another room where he then finds a sleeping goblin crossbowman. *Some* of us try to keep quiet, but Ristrien, Nettie, and Flynn are too loud and wake him up.
 
Pete then tries to intimidate him back to asleep. Yes! I am serious. *Intimidate* him to unconsciousness, like fear is as good as any lullaby. It was glorious, and I giggle just thinking about it, but sadly, it did not succeed. The goblin no doubt wished it had for Flynn, not in the mood for such nonsense, slit goblin’s throat and killed him without flair.
 
As a second son of a lord doomed to no inheritance, Flynn appears to have a greed to please even your appetite, though worry not, not even he could surpass your avarice. I just have to make note that he eagerly looted every body we fell. It seems to be the first thing on his thoughts as soon as the fear of death abates. He was disappointed this time though. The goblin was penniless. Pete emerged from the encounter more pleased (he took the goblin’s scimitar).
 
The next room of note we found ourselves in had two men, a duergar and a familiar face: the eye tattoo guy from earlier at the Yawning Portal. Yagra did say he was with the Xanathar’s guild after all. They were hovering at a door opposite to us, desperately trying to plug it up. I heard the duergar say “get the crack under the door.”
 
They naturally stopped when they saw us enter the room. It doesn’t take the tattooed man long to recognize Flynn as the man who saved him from Yagra. He refused to answer any questions either about Floon Blagmar or the frightful door behind him, but he did say to Flynn, "I like you, so I’ll let you leave if you leave now.” How sporting! But of course we declined, and so we fought.
 
I wish I could say it began well, but Pete, Flynn, *and* Renaer missed their sword strikes, back to back to back. Nettie fared better, her sling hitting the tattooed man and she inspired Ristrien, who killed our tattooed friend with one spectral book to the head.
 
Furious over his companion’s death, the duergar proceeded to grow in both height and width. By the end, he must have been nine feet tall! He swung his war pick and thankfully missed, hitting the wall. Unfortunately for me, the poor swing made me misjudge his position and aim my frost ray into the wall as well. Pete’s new scimitar aimed better, but the duergar could still block Flynn’s sword swing with his shield.
 
With his shield indisposed, he blocked neither Renaer nor Nettie’s rapiers, and as he was reeling from those stabs, Ristrien’s purple library stamp came down upon him, as she cried “you've been checked out!”
 
No Zloton, you aren’t allowed to judge me for laughing at that.
 
Besides, she just killed *both* of our opponents. She may say what she please.
 
Flynn looted a light crossbow and Pete looted a war pick. He was delighted; he had been talking about getting one. While he spoke however, our blind friend said a curious thing. I know not quite how to repeat it, but it seemed to imply that the Baron that he always pays such homage to was not the rat on his shoulder, but a spirit that used the rat as an avatar, that could inhabit any and all rats he wished in fact. He seemed to say that he was a very powerful...rat God? I'm not sure, but it obviously warrants better understanding. If he is a God though, then I would do well to be just a little more wary. As you well know, my experience with fervent divine servants has been a mixed bag in the extreme.
 
But I will not dwell on that. There are far more momentary horrors to keep my attention. We could hear an eating noise from the door that had frightened our enemies so. We suspect it was a swarm of... something, and seeing no reason to deal with it, we blocked bottom of door with bed roll and moved on.
 
We entered a large room with red bare curtains and tapestries. Allow me to paint the scene before us. There was a half orc standing on top of a wavy red blond haired human in the middle of room, presumably Floon. The triumph of discovering him was muted by the sight of nightmarish humanoid with tentacles all about his face sitting on a sort of throne on a raised platform. He was petting a brain. He let it loose on us and it skittered across the floor.
 
The humanoid gestured and without looking at him, the half orc seemed to hear the...order? The half orc turned to face us, but before he could consume my attention, I did see this tentacled leader rise from his seat, and take out something round before leaving the raised platform and the room.
 
For all the looming presence of the half orc, he fell without much fuss. Flynn shot him with his new light crossbow and renaer threw a dagger and down he went. As for that damnable little brain…
 
I will say now that I shot a total of three frost rays at the thing and I missed every time. I might as well have not been in the fight! Am I annoyed at my inadequacy? Yes. I know you figured out my former sense of uselessness. You did mock me for it in our favorite basement after all. Since then, I have done away with my former mentality. This journal has well documented that at least, but still. 0/3? That’s absurd. I will not speak of my contributions in this fight since they are nonexistent and not worth mentioning.
 
Nettie’s aim was better. Her dagger at least hit the skittering brain, although it did not seem to impede it much. It clawed at renaer, pulsing unseen waves that blew him back. Pete swung his new war pick but it missed, as did Ristrien’s purple book attack. Flynn’s sword swing landed, but it does less damage then it should. The same happened with Nettie’s rapier and then Renaer’s rapier. The brain failed his own retaliation, both with claws and with waves. Pete’s pick was more successful, but it still did less than it should have. Ristrien’s purple book blast seemed to have full effect though, which is good, because Flynn, Nettie and Renaer all miss, especially Renear. He failed hard. The brain also failed hard to attack Pete, which gave Ristrien the opening she needed to kill as she killed several before. You will note that I absolutely called it in a previous journal entry. Our archivist friend is dangerous. If all librarians are so in Waterdeep then late returns must be few and far between.
 
Floon was not well, unseemly wounds speckled his body, but the wounds on his mind ran far deeper. Nettie healed all the damage she could see and Floon hugged her, sobbing, babbling to anyone about how horrible it was. He embraced Renaer and a deep hug it was, but the comforts of the familiar were not enough to quiet his sobbing. Pete told him to “get a hold of yourself.” I had half a mind to tell dear Pete to hold his tongue.
 
I cannot speak for his experience. I do not know if our blind companion has tasted torture, but I draw from my own at my leisure to know Floon has full right to weep and whimper. I would have tried to comfort him, but I figured the task would be better carried out by Renear whose judgement he no doubt trusted and not me.
 
We found rooms behind tapestries. The rusted manacles strewn around told us that this was indeed where they kept prisoners, although we found no prisoners being kept. There was only Floon. I feel you wondering Zloton, competitive as you are, and I will assure you that these rooms were but paltry imitations in comparison to the horrors of the dear basement.
 
But it did get me thinking. If Renear is correct in his assessment of why Xanathar's guild took Floon, than we can presume that the torture was to try to get him to say the location of Dagolt’s hidden wealth, information Floon does not have. That means he was tortured with no way to stop it. I am trying to imagine how that would feel. I've never been tortured for information and certainly not for information I don't have. That's a new one for me.
 
Is that worse, Zloton? It occurs to me that there is no choice in it. You can do nothing, but take the pain and I suppose that allows one to mentally retreat into yourself.
 
My own torment, as I understand it, was for compliance and that compliance was certainly in my power to give. So I wonder, did having that choice make it all the more horrifying? The knowledge that in every moment of agony that I could have ended it, that all I had to do was submit, convert, betray my own principles, and my suffering would be over. With all that in my power, with a choice like that hanging over me, I never could lull into complacency and accept the pain, for that pain, indirectly, was *my* doing.
 
Then again, I despise helplessness in all its forms. Perhaps I would prefer to suffer a little more than to have that sensation wash over me again.
 
I don't know if that makes it easier or not. It's hard to say. I would have to experience Floon’s predicament and I am in no hurry to taste test that.
 
To get my mind off such contemplations, I ritual cast my floating disk. It's not exceedingly useful, but it was something to do while Nettie ritual cast detect magic.
 
Her spell revealed several things of interest. One was a small wooden chest behind the chair on the raised platform. It had 16 dragons, 82 shards, 250 nibs and two 2 potions of healing. Nettie took the potions and you can imagine Flynn's delight at the coin. As for me, I received my own treasure. Nettie's detection also revealed a spellbook on the half orc. A peek inside revealed the following spells:
 
burning hands
disguise self
false life
shield
unseen servant
witch bolt
 
I know. Good thing we killed him before he ever got a chance the cast any of them. I mean, what if he had cast “Burning Hands” at me! I shudder and I hear you cackle. Take care when you amuse yourself with my grief, for it is the grief of your elder as well.
 
As none of my companions cast with the use of a book, I took it. I am overcome with excitement. If my life becomes as exciting as today was, I suppose I would need Witch Bolt, but it is the others that interest me. Shield and False Life are always useful for someone as frail as I’ve become. Disguise Self makes me cackle with glee. After all, it’s not like I have a reason to *hide* from anyone. Ha! You must have been vigilant, Zloton. I suspect this journal and I were trickier to find than you planned.
 
But “Unseen Servant” as it's called is what makes me tremble from excitement. It is what Mokuz would have taught me next before you and I...well, before we both had to make ourselves scarce. You from the city and I from...ha, well, you know the wrath I ran from better than me. I've always wanted to know this spell, since the beginning. At the time, I was thinking about my grandmother and being able to have something tend to her, while I was not. But even then, the chef possibilities are endless. It is a force that could help in the kitchen, alleviating a little of the busy time stress, and it can carry plates of food out of the kitchen and into tables as well. I'm overjoyed. I'll get to learning it first.
 
But I must return to the topic at hand. With everything looted to Flynn’s satisfaction, we discussed how to proceed. It was then that Ristrien told me that the tentacled faced creature that went into the other room was an illithid, a *mindflayer* from down below. So, first of all, wow. I’m delighted I got to see one before I died. But as I thought, my confusion grew. If this creature can read minds, why torture Floon for information? If he read Floon’s mind, he’d realize quickly that Floon *didn’t* know the location of the wealth or even that he wasn’t Renear in the first place. Unless...that wasn’t why Floon was taken. What questions *were* they asking him?
 
I think I shall seek out Floon later and ask about what they said to him during his torment. I resolved to not do it right then and there though. *I* certainly didn’t want to be asked questions immediately after my torture. I would not inflict that upon him.
 
Even before that, I should ask Ristrien how the illithid’s mental powers work. Perhaps they can’t break into a mind like that and I am just overthinking it. In any case, she said enough of them that none of us wanted to face him. We had Floon and wealth too, so we all opted to leave while we were ahead.
 
It was about this time that Pete noticed the floating disk I had conjured. He was the only one excited about it, so I gave him my blessing to ride on it all the way out of the sewers. Upon reaching the surface, we gave a beggar acquaintance of Pete’s a nasty shock. From the “height” of my disk he gave some coin to this “Frank” and glided on. He was exceedingly pleased with himself as he rode it through the city. People stared and the City Watch rolled their eyes as he glided past. It entertained me the whole way.
 
Perhaps you are surprised, and thought that I would be more self conscious about drawing so much attention, but frankly, you don’t have to go that far from Tymanther before the stares and glares begin. The further west I went, the more heads would turn and the less and less I had it in me to care about it. And now, at Waterdeep, as west as this continent can go, I take great amusement from the children that gape at me. I’ve even made faces back at them. Their reactions to *that* have ranged from giggles to terror.
 
As desensitized to being stared at as I have become, Pete’s antics meant nothing. I do still believe in making good impressions though and I made sure to make sure to prestigitate the sewer water from our clothes long before we entered the Yawning Portal...again.
 
Volo was still there. Nettie was delighted. She still wanted an autograph, but Volo may have been even happier. He hugged everyone, thanking us all for saving Floon. Pete complimented Renaer on his skill, and then Renaer offered friendship and his help when needed to us all. That led to him receiving an...uncomfortably long hug, administered by Pete.
 
Naturally, we then ask about the one hundred dragons promised to each of us. He claimed he didn’t have it on him, so when pressed about receiving our just reward—Flynn and Pete naturally wouldn’t let Volo slide—he gave us the deed and plans for a house, a house.
 
Yeah, I know. I am still in shock.
 
A house, Zloton! Not just a house, a big house, one that used to be used as a tavern. Which means me going on this unexpected...I don’t even know what we just did is called, but I might be able to open a restaurant in time because I did it. I might actually be able to achieve what I set out to do, at least the beginning of it anyway. I’m not going to run away with hope. Ha! I haven’t become that foolish.
 
I am in a good mood though. Not even Volo could shake me when he mentioned that it’s supposedly to be haunted, which was why he bought it. He’s writing a book on the haunted spots in Waterdeep. I don’t see what’s to fear about a spirit lingering there. Ancestors should be respected, not feared and avoided.
 
Volo gave us the house’s, this “Trollskull Manor’s” deed and plans. He had it for research. Flynn and Pete did not trust him to keep his word, so one thing lead to another and now we are all—minus Nettie; she has her own room here—sleeping with Volo in his room.
 
Forgive me, that came out wrong, especially as it was Flynn’s idea. We are having a *sleepover* in Volo’s room, which is exactly as hysterical as it sounds. I’m pressed between snoring forms as I write this. I’m writing to let the nerves settle. A restaurant, Zloton. You must understand what this means. From out of the ashes of the old emerges the joy of the past, reborn and reimagined into the new and wonderful. Oh my dear, I’m trembling. I’m really trembling.
 
Well, Zloton, it would be very cruel of you to visit me in this moment of real joy and anticipation, which does sound like you. Hmm...I think I need to cast another alarm.