The Dauntless

"I've... I've been having visions for months now," Django starts, then winces a little as he says, "Of Breachill. Burning. It's why I came to answer the Call for Heroes, thinking maybe the dream just symbolized some sort of turmoil I could help the town overcome. But now I'm not so sure. There seems to be a cult of a dragon god involved, and I have faith in my abilities and my companions, but... I mean, it's a dragon cult, is this over my head? The devastation I saw was staggering and I'm terrified now that it was literal and not symbolic. I want to do whatever I can to help but I don't know if we're enough for this."

The elf is quiet for a moment. "Dreams are difficult to interpret, prophetic ones in particular. It is easy to assume, as you are of Desna's clergy, that this comes from the Song herself, but that may not be the case. Further, the purpose of the dream is often unclear as well. Whether you are to stop this event, witness it, or even contribute to it. A dream of destruction can often mean not a literal destruction, but a metaphorical one, burning down the old to make room for the new. Your own feelings and beliefs may cloud the message you receive, as well. Dreams are, after all, an interpretation of the mind. Or, it could very well be literal. All that is to say, do not put much stock in the events of the dream itself." The elf smiles softly. "It seems as though whatever your dream prophesied, it served at least its most important goal of bringing you here, and you've already done a great deal of good just by that. For now, you must put your faith in your friends as well as those around you. Grow as strong as you can to help those in need. If that is enough, then it will be enough, and there is nothing to worry about. If it is not, then it will not, and worrying will not make it any moreso."

"Thank you, Father," Django says, bowing his head. "I appreciate the extra perspective. I'd like to stay and commune for awhile myself, if that's alright, and I don't want to keep you from yours either, but it's nice to finally talk to other members of the clergy besides my father. I'm Django Lovell."

"Kellen Carondil," the elf replies, bowing his head in turn. "Any member of Desna's flock is welcome here, Brother Lovell. You are more than welcome to join me in my communion or find somewhere to make your own, and if you ever need to speak, my ears are wide open."

The next day the group returns to the fort, the warg pups in tow. Heeding the warnings their draconic allies had given them the day before, the group cautiously approaches the last door of the North wing, expecting some nasty surprise beyond it. Setting up around the corridor below, Django throws open the door and hauls back, as a mighty roar echoes down the corridor. A moment later the roar turns to whimpers, as the starving bear trapped in the other room tries very unsuccessfully to squeeze through the open door. Taking pity on the poor thing, Dorrak gathers some of the corpses of a previous fight, and after giving it some food Luna calms the bear. Convincing him that they're trying to help, and pointedly not for eating, She sets about getting him out of the room, and the party sees him through the tight corridors of the basement and on his way out of the building.

Moving to the southern end of the basement, the group passes through a room with four monuments and graves of distinguished members of the Order of the Nail, and into a catacomb of less distinguished bodies. Noting some conspicuously empty slots, the group pauses to investigate more in-depth, and in the middle of their examination several helmets float up, flying to the top of the room where they start shooting nails and doing other unfavorable things. Following after them, most of the group climbs the catacombs to remain in melee, with Antoinette savagely crushing one of them in her jaws while Alak brutally smashes another against the wall. In moments the fight is over.

Alak still looks visibly shaken. "That's... not something I expected to have to deal with," he says as he drops back to the ground. "My apologies for not warning you of this possibility. There's an old, somewhat out of vogue method Hellknights used to protect our crypts. A voluntary program, if you will, where if necromantic magic were used on the bodies or souls of the dead in the crypt, it would trigger a ward that would awaken the volunteers to slay the necromancer. Obviously this ward has been triggered."

"You had no reason to expect that there was necromancy at play, you have nothing to apologize for," Dorrak assures Alak, shaking his head. "Nonetheless, that magic as foul as necromancy has been used here is disturbing, to say the least. All the more reason to hunt this person down and deliver justice for their crimes against nature."

Of course, that's not the only sign of necromancy here. As you head to the north, you enter what appears to be an underground cemetery, with gravestones in place of flagstones lining the floor. Six of them are missing, and the reason why is evident to Dorrak as he sees six walking skeletons, one of whom wears black full plate with a skull engraved on the front, standing in formation at the end of the hall.

Seeing the undead phalanx, there's hardly a moment's hesitation before the four warriors surge forward, leaving Django in the back lines to incinerate the skeletons with holy light. They fall quite quickly, save for the one that seems to be their commander, and don't manage to do much damage. One manages a single powerful strike on Luna, but Dorrak shields her with scarlet light from some of the damage and slays the skeleton. When only the commander is left standing, the group surrounds it and falls on it with scale and steel, rending it to pieces. "That is confirmation that a necromancer has been here," Dorrak growls.

Alak shakes his head. "No, as soon as the necromantic ward triggered it would've made it impossible to raise these skeletons. They were animated by the wards to chase the necromancer out, and unfortunately with no one present to disable them they were unable to return to their rest once the job was done."

Rows of large, metal-and-stone lockboxes line the winding walls of this storeroom, as do occasional shelves and what look like filing cabinets intended for the storage of documents. The lockboxes hang ajar, having been opened and emptied long ago. A set of obvious tracks in the dusty floor suggest someone recently moved about in here. A pile of ashes and a few melted candle stubs lie atop a low table in the center of the room.

Antoinette walks up to the table, curious about the odd arrangement of items on it. After a moment's investigation, she shakes her head. "Somebody did a necromantic ritual here. They were trying to speak with the dead."

"But what for?" Dorrak muses, his brow creased. "Do you have any idea how long ago this was?"

Luna crouches next to the makeshift altar. "Well, judging by the dust here, I'd say a bit more than a week ago, maybe two."

While Luna and Antoinette investigate, Alak and Dorrak begin methodically searching the room. Dorrak finds nothing of interest, each of the small vaults having been emptied by the Hellknights or looters long ago, but Alak eventually finds one that he pulls from its shelving. He runs his hand along the bottom before pulling, revealing it to have been false. From within, he withdraws a box and smiles. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a key which he uses on the box to open it. Inside is a simple, tarnished silver signet ring. He slips it on his finger, staring at it as he reminisces. "I remember sitting on my father's lap and turning this ring on his finger when I was but a boy," he says, his voice solemn, before he turns to the party. "Thank you for helping me to reunite with those memories, my friends. You have the Order of the Nail's gratitude... and mine."

Antoinette smiles. ”Such memories are precious. I’m glad we were able to help you find such an important memento of yours.”

”As am I. I’m glad to see it on its rightful owner’s hand once more,” Dorrak rumbles his agreement. ”And we owe you thanks as well for assisting our pursuit of justice and rooting out corruption in this place.”

Alak nods. "I'll help see you through the remainder of your exploration of the Citadel, but once that's done I must head back to Citadel Vraid."

To the north, various storage racks and cabinets clutter this long, narrow space. Some are empty, though others still contain dusty banners with the Order of the Nail’s sunburst insignia, stylized Asmodean paraphernalia, and other trappings clearly designed for formal funerals. Curiously, in the back of the room, a dirt-walled tunnel opens in the wall and stretches into the gloom; and a set of tracks leads from this tunnel to the door leading back into the vaults.

Antoinette looks into the tunnel. She looks like she’s about to enter, but stops. ”I think this tunnel leads back toward Breachill. It’s been carved by hand. This must have taken quite a long time to complete. How long was this strange plan in the works for?”

"I thought it was going to Elidir," Dorrak replies with a deep frown. "Even still, it's particularly odd. Where does it come out?"

The tunnel is almost a perfectly straight line, although it curves towards the end of the 20 minutes it takes you to follow it. At the end of the tunnel, a ladder leads straight up to a trapdoor.

After listening at the door and hearing nothing, you open it and clamber out, entering what appears to be a storeroom filled with jars upon jars of pickled goods. Pickled cucumbers, beets, radishes, onions, cauliflower, chicken's feet and pig's ears line the shelves along the walls.

"This... isn't what I was expecting," Django says, slowly putting his starknife back on his belt.

Antoinette scowls. ”I’ve never seen so many pickles in one place.”

She walks over and opens the door at the end of the room.

The door leads to a hallway with many more doors in it as well as a stairwell. Up the stairs, Antoinette and Dorrak hear the sound of lively music playing. You follow the stairs and find yourselves emerging in a dingy looking tavern which, despite its appearance, is very busy, bustling with people who are predominantly some combination of large, muscular, overweight, or scarred. Behind the bar is a red haired dwarven woman cleaning a mug with a rag, and three girls, two human and one half-elf, dart about the tavern serving drinks and meals in revealing clothing.

Quickly realizing they won't gain much here at the moment, the group heads back to the citadel.

As you had back towards the door leading to the storage basement, one of the human waitresses notices you. "Oh, excuse me? Excuse me!" She runs over to you. "Sorry, you can't go down there. That's employees only."