Session 25

With everyone ready, the Succulent Juices climbed into the carriages. Brabara and Ebyn in one, Xalen and Seknafret in the other. The drivers snapped the reigns, and the carriages took off down the main road and out the North Gate on the way to Lord Neverember’s country estate.

About an hour and a half after leaving the city, the climate outside each carriage began to resemble the actual season, rather than the perpetual spring / summer of Neverwinter. It gradually became colder until eventually snow covered the ground.

Two hours from the city, the carriages turned off the road and followed a well-trodden country lane through a small stand of snow laden pines before entering a circular driveway before a stately manor. The front of the building was well lit with dozens of other carriages waiting to deposit their passengers at the foot of a short flight of marble stairs flanked by tall stone statues beside a decorative fountain.

Upon seeing their carriages, Lord Neverember’s chamberlain came down the steps and greeted the party as they exited. He bowed deeply and asked them to follow him inside where he loudly introduced the Heroes of Neverwinter to the assembled guests.

The richly decorated ballroom was large. Food covered tables took up one corner and smartly dressed servers walked amid an elegant crowd serving drinks, while a quartet played tasteful seasonal music in another corner of the room. Everyone who was anyone in Neverwinter was in attendance, and many of the faces turned to look at the four of them as they were announced.

Xalen wasted no time and snagged two glasses of sparkling wine from the nearest server, passing one to Brabara and the other to Seknafret before taking another couple for himself and Ebyn.

Ebyn sniffed at the contents of the delicate glass, his nose wrinkling as the bubbles fizzed below. He raised the glass once, then tilted his head back and guzzled the lot, coughing at the end. “Mmm, delicious,” he said, his voice flat.

Brabara stared at the young wizard. “You’re supposed to sip it.”

“Is that right?” Ebyn said as he placed the now empty glass down on a table.

The group moved awkwardly through the guests. For all their magical skill and martial prowess, they were entirely out of their depth in a social setting of this nature. Only Seknafret seemed comfortable with the generally baffling rules of etiquette, and she easily made small talk, and offered compliments, as she navigated the crowd.

Xalen took another drink and relaxed enough to explore the dancefloor where he was soon surrounded by perfumed young women keen for a dance with one of the Lord’s special guests, leaving Brabara and Ebyn standing awkwardly against the wall at the edge of the party.

They learned, that apart from themselves, Lord Neverember had another special guest in attendance, the famed toymaker Nikola Kringle.

An older gentleman with a jolly laugh and a thick white beard. Nikola wore a top hat decorated with a sprig of holly and a cane with a silver handle, He wore a luxurious deep red velvet tailcoat, adorned with intricate gold embroidery, beneath which was a waistcoat of rich emerald-green brocade, shimmering subtly in the candlelight, above crisp white breeches tucked into polished black leather boots. A silk cravat in snowy white, perfectly tied, sat neatly at his neck.

Ebyn felt a tug at his coat and looked down to see Umberto standing beside him. “It’s nice to see you again, Ebyn,” the scholarly gnome said with a smile.

“And you too, Umberto,” Ebyn replied. “I hope things have been well with you.”

“There’s something I’d like to discuss if you have some time,” Umberto said turning his head from side to side. “But not here.”

Ebyn couldn’t agree fast enough. “Of course, lead on.”

Umberto led Ebyn out from the ballroom across the hall to a large library. Here, elderly guests sat in comfortable looking leather couches enjoying a pipe, or a drink in relative peace. Compared to the other room the library was quiet, and Ebyn allowed himself to relax, suddenly realizing that he had been clenching his jaw since they’d arrived at the ball.

Umberto took Ebyn to an empty corner of the library and leaned close.

“Since our last conversation,” Umberto began, “I realized just how little I knew about The Whispered One, and just how ridiculous it was for me to have published a book on the subject.” Umberto shook his head. “It’s an embarrassment to me now just how wrong much of my research on this subject had been.”

Ebyn nodded. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Umberto. A god of secrets would naturally be a challenging subject.”

“Be that as it may,” Umberto continued. “Since you left, I have done some more research, and I think I have found something remarkable.”

Ebyn’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking of writing another book, are you?”

“Oh, heavens no. I have learned that lesson well.”

“What did you find out?”

“It struck me as odd, that a being as ancient and powerful as The Whispered One was practically unknown on Toril. Despite his origins on Oerth he remains relatively unknown here when others from that world are so famous. Mordenkainen, Tasha, Bigby, Leomund, for example.”

“Okay,” Ebyn said. “So, what does that have to do with Vecna?”

“It occurred to me that perhaps he was not actually unknown,” Umberto’s eyes twinkled as he spoke, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “Rather, that he had concealed his presence here, and this led me to a startling revelation. The Whispered One is a powerful spellcaster, and a lich, he favours armies of the undead and seeks conquest and the accumulation of power.”

Ebyn nodded. “Yes, this is all understood.”

“Well,” Umberto continued. “We have such a figure here, in Thay. The lich Szass Tam is also a powerful spellcaster with armies of undead who seeks conquest and the accumulation of power.”

“Go on,” Ebyn said, now intrigued by Umberto’s line of reasoning.

“I dug a little deeper into the history of Thay and of Szass Tam in particular and I have come to the conclusion that The Whispered One and Szass Tam are the same.”

Umberto’s final statement was accompanied by a faint click, as the box Ebyn always kept with him gained another secret.

Ebyn reached into his coat pocket and pushed the lid of the box closed. “You need to keep this theory to yourself, Umberto,” Ebyn said. “If you are right, then Vecna would not want his deception exposed, and if you are wrong Szass Tam would not abide having his power questioned.”

“Of course,” Umberto nodded. “You are the only one I have told.”

Ebyn reached out and placed a hand on the gnome scholar’s shoulder. “Thank you for trusting me, Umberto. I appreciate it.”

Umberto’s reply was cut off by a loud fanfare sounding from outside the library.

The gnome straightened and beamed a wide smile. “It seems our host has made his appearance. We should return to the party.”

Ebyn grimaced. “If we must.”

---

Lord Neverember stood beside a simple wooden chair on a dais beside a tall conical pine decorated with tinsel, coloured balls, and toy soldiers. Nikola Kringle stood at the foot of the dais with a large red sack on the floor beside him.

“Honoured Guests,” Lord Neverember said, his commanding voice cutting through the babble of the crowd causing everyone to fall silent. “I trust you have all been enjoying an evening of fine food, fine wine, and fine company. It is my absolute pleasure to host the midwinter ball each season and this year we have some very special guests with us.” His eyes scanned the crowd and upon spotting Brabara, Seknafret, and Xalen he signalled for them to join him.

“Where’s the wizard?” Lord Neverember whispered as Brabara stepped onto the dais beside him.

Brabara quickly scanned the crowd and saw Ebyn standing by the archway near the exit. Ebyn saw that he’d been spotted and gave a quick shake of his head.

“I’ll fetch him, my lord.” Brabara said, then stepped into the crowd to bring Ebyn reluctantly up to stand beside the others.

“Esteemed Guests,” Lord Neverember resumed once the four of them were standing there. “I give you, the Heroes of Neverwinter.” There was a moment of polite applause before the lord raised a hand. “I am sure many of you will have heard something of the magnificent work these four have done in defence of our great city. In fact, some of you here tonight owe these people your very lives. In honour of their ongoing contribution to our wellbeing, I am here to announce my plans to rebuild the Neverwinter academy, a school of magic and combat at its original site in the ruined Beggar’s Nest.”

There were a few murmurs about the crowd but soon someone started clapping and the guests all followed suit.

Lord Neverember leaned toward Brabara. “You can step down now.”  

He waited for the four of them to return to the crowd before turning to face Nikola Kringle.

“There is of course another guest here, one who I am certain needs no introduction,” the lord said holding a palm out toward Nikola. “I am sure there is not one of us growing up that did not dream of being gifted a toy from this man’s workshop. And tonight, he is here so your children can realise this dream.”

There was a squeal from the assembled children as Nikola took hold of the sack at his feet. “Thank you, my lord,” Nikola said, offering the man a slight bow. “Now for gifts!”

Lord Neverember sat in his chair while Nikola presented gifts to the crowd of children that formed around him. Nikola would ask each child what they wished for, and he would reach inside the sack to pull out that very toy – much to the delight of everyone.

When the last child had received a gift, Nikola turned to face Lord Neverember. “My lord,” the jolly fellow began. “Now that all the children have their gifts there is something I wish to offer you.”

Lord Neverember leaned forward in his chair. “By all means.”

Nikola once more reached into his sack – which still seemed full despite the dozens of toys he’d already taken out of it – and pulled out a unique looking toy soldier. Where most toy soldiers carried both sword and shield, this one had only the shield.

Lord Neverember’s eyes widened as he saw what Nikola held in his hand. “It cannot be!”

“My lord,” Nikola said. “Before I present this gift I would like to share the story behind it with your guests, if I may.”

“Of course,” Lord Neverember said, his eyes remaining fixed on the toy soldier.

Nikola turned to face the crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began. “A long time ago, in a land far away, there lived a fair and wise widower king. The king had three beautiful children and though he mourned the loss of his queen his children brought him boundless joy.

“One day, the dark and mysterious witch-queen from a neighbouring kingdom arrived at court. She sought to marry the king and combine their kingdoms. The queen arrived with her pet mice, six of them that climbed about her clothes and hair wherever she went, much to the delight of the children.

“But the king was not so easily swayed. Knowing of the queen’s dark heart, he refused her proposal. The witch-queen flew into a rage and killed the king’s children before vanishing in a flash of magic.

“The witch-queen, still determined to take over the kingdom, sent her armies against the king’s own forces and soon the realm suffered under the constant burden of war.

“In time, a champion emerged. A brave and beautiful soldier rose through the ranks of the king’s armies and when presented before the king she vowed to kill the witch-queen. The king, upon seeing her beauty and knowing the purity of her heart, promised to make her his queen were she to succeed in this quest.

“The champion faced many trials in the witch-queen’s kingdom, but village by village she was able to bring people out from under the witch-queen’s cruel tyranny. Seeing the champion’s success, the king sent greater numbers of soldiers to help, even joining the field himself as she neared the witch-queen’s stronghold.

“On the eve of midwinter, the champion finally came face-to-face with the witch-queen and her familiars. Their battle was as magnificent and terrible as any between good and evil can be. The pair were evenly matched but then the king managed to fight his way to the champion’s side and the witch-queen knew she was finished.

“In a last desperate bid for victory, the witch-queen uttered a terrible curse upon the champion, but the champion raised her magical shield to reflect the spell back upon the witch-queen.

“Struck by her own curse, the witch-queen shrank to the size of a mouse, merging with her six familiars to become a tiny seven headed monster that scurried off into the darkness. The king rejoiced at the sight of his enemy’s fall, and knowing victory was finally theirs, fell to his knees before the champion, ready to profess his undying loyalty and love.

“Alas, the champion was not quite quick enough with her shield. She only managed to reflect a part of the curse. She stiffened and dropped her sword as the magic struck her, and she slowly shrunk down to become a small wooden toy.

“The king took up the toy soldier and her sword. He kept them both safe for the rest of his years. And in commemoration of the champion’s brave sacrifice, the king decreed that a toy soldier would become the official symbol of mid-winter.

“Today, artisans around the realms craft these wooden dolls, and they are given as gifts, so that everyone might be protected from evil as that king had been.

“But the king never married and died years later without any heirs. In time his proud kingdom descended into chaos and both the sword, and the toy soldier, were lost.

“Until today.”

The assembled guests had gone very quiet as the story unfolded and now stood in raptured attention.

“Lord Neverember has been searching for this particular toy soldier for many years,” Nikola explained. “And tonight, it is my honour to give you this gift.”

Nikola turned and held the soldier out to Lord Neverember who took it and carefully brought it to his chest, his eyes fixed on the wooden toy.

As before, someone started clapping and soon the crowd followed, resulting in an extended period of rapturous applause, that continued for several minutes. At a signal from Foskar, the quartet started playing again and soon the guests returned to their own conversations and dancing.

Lord Neverember remained seated; his attention completely consumed by the wooden doll. “Of course,” he said after a few minutes and abruptly rose and left the room.

Ebyn, who had been watching the lord closely since he received the gift, tapped Brabara on the shoulder and indicated that they should follow him. The pair left the ballroom and headed deeper into the country house where they were stopped by one of Lord Neverember’s personal guards.

“This area is off limits!” the heavily armoured man said.

“I am Sergeant Brabara Coldbush of the Neverwinter City watch,” Brabara said.

“I know who you are,” the guard said. “And this area is off limits.”

“We just want to make sure Lord Neverember is safe,” Ebyn interjected. “He ran off without a word and had been acting strange since receiving the gift.”

The guard stood for a moment and looked at them. “Fine, I’ll check in on him, but you two stay here.”

The guard turned, climbed the stairs and gently knocked on a door in the hallway above. “My lord?” There was no answer, so the guard knocked again, much louder.

This time the door opened, and they could see Lord Neverember standing there. “What is it?”

“Just making sure you’re ok, sir,” the guard said, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“I am fine, soldier. Please make sure I am not disturbed.” Lord Neverember said and closed the door firmly.

The guard came back down the stairs. “You heard him, he’s fine.”

“I don’t like…” Ebyn started to say, but Brabara yanked him back toward the party chamber.

“We are guests in this house, Ebyn,” Brabara said. “And that guard had his orders. We should respect that.”

Ebyn’s nostrils flared for a moment. “Fine,” he said, “but stay with me. I am going to check something out.”

Ebyn closed his eyes and transferred his sight to Hoot who remained perched on a tree outside the house. He guided his familiar around the house until he could see into the lord’s room.

He saw Lord Neverember kneeling on the floor in front of an open wooden chest. It was impossible to see exactly what was going on, but the lord was alone in the room and did not appear to be in distress.

He returned to his own sight and looked at Brabara. “He seems fine,” Ebyn said. “I guess I was just being paranoid.”

Brabara chuckled. “A little paranoia is healthy, especially after what we have seen, but we need to keep some perspective.” She waved her arm over the guests. “These people lead pampered lives, made possible by people like us, lets enjoy being one of them. Even if it is for just one night.”

Xalen found Nikola at the edge of the dancefloor with a smile on his face, tapping his foot and clapping along with the music as he watched a circle of children dance.

“Excuse me,” Xalen said, tapping the jolly looking fellow on the shoulder.

Nikola turned around. “Ah, yes. Xalen, is it?”

“That’s right,” Xalen said. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Kringle.”

“Please, call me Nikola,” the man said. “What can I do for you?”

Xalen cleared his throat. “I recently brought several children to the orphanage in Neverwinter. Rescued from a terrible place where they were set to become child soldiers in an endless and pointless war.”

Nikola nodded. “All war is pointless, my boy. Such a terrible waste of lives and of course it is the young who suffer the most.”

“Well, I was hoping you might be able to pay the orphanage a visit tomorrow,” Xalen said. “I am sure that all the children there would love to share in some of the joy you brought these noble children tonight.”

Nikola reached out and placed an arm on Xalen’s shoulder. “Your compassion for these children does you credit, young man. I would be honoured to visit the orphanage. Can I count on you also being there?”

“What? Yes. Sure, I guess,” Xalen managed.

“I shall meet you there at mid-morning,” Nikola said with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll see you there.”

Brabara coaxed Ebyn back into the party chamber where the music was in full swing. Seknafret was in conversation with a handsome nobleman, and she waved the others across when she spotted them in the doorway.

“This is Aemon Giles,” Seknafret said as Brabara and Ebyn came by.

Aemon shook Ebyn’s hand warmly and took Brabara’s to his lips. “Delighted to meet you, both.” He said and offered a wide smile. “In fact, it is because of the four of you that my family and I were lucky enough to have received this invitation.”

Brabara’s brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“Aemon’s family were elevated by Lord Neverember,” Seknafret explained. “After we uncovered Jerot Galgin’s role in the kidnapping.”

Aemon nodded. “It seems that the Galgin family’s loss was my family’s gain. I am so glad of this opportunity to thank you all personally.”

Ebyn shrugged. “We had nothing to do with Lord Neverember’s decision.”

“True,” Aemon conceded, “but your actions did create the opportunity.”

“Okay.” Ebyn said simply.

 Seknafret frowned. “What Ebyn means to say is that it is nice to meet you.”

“I do?” Ebyn queried then took note of Brabara’s glare. “Oh. Yes. Nice to meet you.”

“Well, I should take my leave,” Aemon gave them all a warm smile. “Please enjoy the rest of the night.”

“Rest of the night?” Ebyn said as Aemon disappeared into the throng. “How much longer must we endure this nonsense?”

Brabara placed a hand on Ebyn’s shoulder. “For just a little bit longer,” she said, her grip tightening. “Let’s dance!”

The screaming started before Ebyn could respond.

The three of them looked about and saw a handful of guests running down the hall toward the front door. In the main ballroom, several of the nimbler young ladies had climbed onto the tables clutching at the hems of their skirts, while others - who were not so lucky - started screaming and rolling on the floor.

“What is happening?” Seknafret said, her eyes scanning the room.

“Rats!” someone cried out and the crowd dissolved into panic.

“Trunks call ships to the sun!” Brabara yelled and took as many of the nearby children as she could into her arms and ran for the door. In the hallway behind her, she could see Lord Neverember’s personal guards in combat with multiple swarms of mice.

Brabara ran to the door, placed the children down and then pushed her way through the tide of people fleeing the building to go back and find more.

Back in the ballroom all was chaos. A couple of servers and several of the guests were dead and those that remained were screaming and running in panicked circles to avoid the many mice and rats that nipped at their heels.  

Ebyn and Seknafret used their magic to send fire down on clusters of rats and now several parts of the room were on fire, including the tall, decorated pine tree in the corner.

Nikola did his best to usher screaming guests out through the door while Ebyn and Seknafret burned the rodents.

Brabara grabbed a second armload of children and carried them to the cold outside where she saw carriages had been summoned and were now taking panicked guests back to the city.

Almost as quickly as the chaos started, order was restored. Lord Neverember’s guards coupled with the group and Nikola’s help managed to finish off the swarming mice.  Seknafret set about helping as many of the injured guests as possible.

Brabara remained outside, incomprehensibly trying to coordinate transport home for the remaining guests until the chamberlain had recovered his wits enough to take over.

Xalen, accompanied by the guards, searched the house for Lord Neverember. They found no trace of the man inside the building, so Ebyn using Hoot’s eyes, scouted the surrounding area to no avail.

The Lord Protector of Neverwinter had vanished.

In the meantime, the guards started gathering the bodies of the deceased in a line in the snow outside. Four serving staff and twelve guests, including one child.

“I know where to find Lord Neverember,” Nikola announced entering the room where the group waited, his bulging sack in one hand and a tiny toy sword in the other.

“I knew you had something to do with this,” Ebyn spat, his words harsh.

Nikola sighed and looked at the floor. “In a way, you are correct, but not – I hope – in the way you believe.”

“Explain yourself,” Brabara snapped.

“A terrible tale, centuries in the making, has added a new chapter tonight, but with your help it may yet be the final one.” Nikola said.

“Speak plainly, old man,” Ebyn said. “I have little patience for riddles.”

“Or skill,” Xalen muttered, not quite under his breath.

“Very well,” Nikola nodded. “The toy soldier I gave to Lord Neverember as a gift, a gift that he specifically requested I should mention, was not a toy crafted by a toy maker. It was, in fact, the original toy soldier struck by the witch-queen’s curse from the story I told this evening.”

Seknafret gasped. “Why would you give such a tragic item to anyone as a gift?”

Nikola’s eyes sparkled. “Well, my dear, because of you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I knew that you four would be in attendance,” Nikola said, “and I knew that Lord Neverember already possessed the sword that had been lost after the ancient kingdom fell into ruin.” He held up the small spike of metal for them all to see. “This was a chance to reunite the sword and soldier and break the curse once and for all, and who better able to achieve this goal than the Heroes of Neverwinter themselves.”

Brabara’s jaw dropped. “You planned this?”

Nikola shook his head. “No, the attack by the mice and the disappearance of the lord were not something I had anticipated. Truly, the tragedy that took place tonight will haunt my dreams for years to come.”

“Brabara and I don’t have any of our gear,” Xalen pointed out.

“I can help with that,” Nikola said and placed his sack down on the floor. “Simply tell me which items of your equipment you require.”

“What? Like my glaive?” Brabara said.

Nikola fished around his sack and produced Brabara’s glaive from within, handing it to her.

Brabara took it, noting the familiar nicks and scratches on the haft of the weapon. “This is actually my glaive.” She turned to look at Nikola, her eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

Nikola chuckled, a deep rumble that caused his belly to rise and fall. “That, my dear, is the magic of midwinter. Now, what else do you all need?”

The group spoke their requests and Nikola produced everything they asked for. Like the glaive the items were not mere equivalents they were the actual items retrieved from their apartments.

Once the party had exchanged their tailored party attire for their adventuring gear, Nikola led them to Lord Neverember’s private chamber. The floor of the room was littered with dead mice.

“We already searched in here,” Xalen said.

“Quite so,” Nikola said, “but you were searching for a fully grown man, when instead you should have been looking for this.” Nikola pointed at a small hole in the corner of the room – only big enough for a mouse.

“You want us to go down there?” Brabara asked, sceptical.

Nikola nodded. “Take the toy sword, when you find the soldier, give her the sword and it should break the curse and free her.”

Brabara was still looking at the tiny hole in the floor. “The hole? It’s way too small.”

“Stand next to me,” Nikola said. “Take the sword, walk toward the hole and believe. The magic of midwinter will do the rest.”

Brabara took the small sword, and she started walking toward the hole in the corner of the room, the others close behind. The closer she got, the hole seemed to get bigger, as did the sword. And by the time the group reached the opening, the hole was easily big enough to let them through.

Looking behind them, they saw Lord Neverember’s room had grown to epic proportions and the myriad dead mice on the floor now appeared at least as large as they did. Beyond that, Nikola’s polished black boots loomed like a giant in some children’s fairy tale.

“The magic of midwinter,” Brabara chuckled, and entered the tunnel.