As Alex and his companions descended the creaking stairs into the bustling pub, the atmosphere shifted. The clamor of laughter and clinking mugs faded into the background as their attention was drawn to a woman sitting at the counter. Her quiet weeping stood out in stark contrast to the lively scene around her.
"Fucking Flaming Fist..." she murmured bitterly, her voice thick with frustration.
Behind the counter, a young man, the bartender, leaned forward, his face creased with concern. "Lora, there must be something that can be done," he said gently.
Lora shook her head, her red hair catching the dim light. "I don’t know, Alan. Every time I tell that damned Flaming Fist officer about my daughter, she just… it’s like she gets a headache and forgets why I’m even there. I’ve told her over and over about Vanra, and each time, she acts like it’s the first time she’s heard of it. I swear, I feel like I’m the one going mad."
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling.
She was a striking figure, even in despair. Her sun-darkened skin told of a life spent near the sea, and her clothes carried the faint, briny scent of saltwater. But it was the anguish etched into her blue eyes that captured Alex's attention. Without hesitation, he stepped forward.
"Hello," he said gently, his voice cutting through the woman’s despair like a lifeline. "My name is Alex. I’m an adventurer. I couldn’t help but overhear, and I’d like to offer my help, if I can."
Lora looked up at him, her tear-streaked face a mixture of hope and desperation. She hesitated, her trembling hands clasping the edge of the counter.
"My daughter, Vanra," she whispered. "She’s missing. My little girl..." Her voice faltered as fresh tears welled in her eyes. "That useless Flaming Fist officer claimed she had a lead, but she must’ve been sucking dream mist or something. Every time I go to her, it’s like she can’t remember me or my daughter."
She took a shuddering breath, her gaze locking onto Alex’s. "Can you really help me? I have no family, no one to turn to. Vanra’s father… he’s not around. The Flaming Fist was my last hope. And now… now I don’t know what to do. I’m so afraid. I’m so tired."
Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if to hold herself together.
Halsin stepped forward then, his towering presence radiating calm. He placed a firm but reassuring hand on Alex’s shoulder, their eyes meeting in silent understanding.
"I will help you," Halsin said, his deep voice steady. "My instincts tell me there is more to this story than meets the eye."
Alex nodded.
Lora straightened slightly, her desperation giving way to a fragile thread of hope. "I haven’t slept or eaten since she disappeared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m terrified something has happened to her. She’s only seven years old… my little girl. She has red hair, like me. We were at the Blushing Mermaid, down by the docks, when she was taken."
"Was anyone else with you?" Lump asked, his voice low but probing.
Lora shook her head. "No, just me. Well, there were a couple of old drinking mates at the next table, but they’re no help. They barely remember their own names most nights. I swear, I wasn’t drunk. I only stopped in for a quick drink—I was sober, I swear!"
"We’ll head to the Blushing Mermaid now," Halsin said firmly, his voice a quiet promise.
"Thank you," Lora breathed, relief washing over her features like a tide retreating from the shore. "I’ll head home—I can’t stand being around those useless officers any longer. Please, come find me the moment you hear anything. I live close to the docks, just a few steps from the Fish Market. My house is painted blue—number 34."
She rattled off her address, her voice trembling but clear. Halsin committed it to memory, nodding once in acknowledgment.
As Alex and his companions stepped out of the Elfsong Tavern, the group parted ways with practiced efficiency. Halsin and Lump headed toward the Blushing Mermaid to investigate Vanra’s disappearance, while Alex and the rest of the party made their way toward the Lower City, where Jaheira awaited them.
The streets were alive with a chaotic energy. Passing a large, imposing building, Alex’s gaze caught the bold lettering on a plaque affixed to its wall: Baldur’s Mouth. The memory of the tiefling reporter he had encountered briefly came rushing back.
'I’ll need to stop by here later,' Alex thought, making a mental note as they moved on.
The road sloped downward, the architecture becoming more cramped and dilapidated with every step , making clear way to the harsh reality of the Lower City. The once-wide avenues narrowed into congested lanes, the stench of decay mingling with the acrid tang of salt air. Trash lined the gutters, and the occasional skitter of rats broke the oppressive silence.
Suddenly, a small rat darted out onto the path, freezing in its tracks before the party. It locked its beady eyes on Alex, its tiny body eerily still. Then, with a sharp, deliberate nod, it scurried away, slipping beneath the door of an abandoned house.
Alex raised a brow, glancing at his companions. Shadowheart gave him a questioning look, while Karlach's hand instinctively moved to her weapon.
Alex walked toward the house. With a gentle push, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior. Standing in the center, tall and unyielding, was Jaheira.
"Close the door," she commanded without turning around, her voice low and firm.
Gale, bringing up the rear, quickly complied, shutting the door with a heavy thud.
Jaheira exhaled, a blend of relief and exasperation crossing her face. "We finally meet," she said, her sharp eyes studying Alex. "It would’ve been nice to know you’d be missing for a month. At least I could’ve mentally prepared for all the work I had to do in your absence. But it’s good to have you back." A smirk tugged at her lips, softening her otherwise stern expression.
"Good to see you too, Jaheira," Karlach said warmly, her fiery enthusiasm breaking through the tension.
"How’s the situation?" Alex asked, his tone direct.
Jaheira crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "Better than it was. For some reason, the Guild has stepped up and begun hunting down the doppelgangers infiltrating the city. I assume that has something to do with you?"
Alex nodded. "I gave them a map of key locations where the doppelgangers were operating."
Jaheira’s lips twitched in approval. "Good. With that out of the way, we can focus on what truly matters—Orin and Gortash."
"Orin shouldn’t be a problem," Alex said, his voice steady. "I fought her recently and nearly killed her, but Gortash intervened and saved her."
A flicker of recognition crossed Jaheira’s face. "So, you’re the failed demon lord summon everyone in Rivington’s been whispering about." She chuckled dryly, nodding.
Unfazed, Alex continued, "Two days ago, I dealt with Bhaal and his Murder Tribunal. That includes their highest-ranking member, Sarevok Anchev."
Jaheira’s brows shot up, and she let out a low whistle. "Impressive," she admitted, her tone tinged with genuine admiration.
Before Alex could respond, a sudden tremor shook the ground beneath their feet. Dust rained down from the rafters as the quake subsided, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake.
"Let me guess," Jaheira said dryly. "You have a plan for these quakes too?"
Alex shook his head, his expression darkening. "They’re being caused by the Elder Brain," he said, launching into an explanation. "It’s siphoning the magic from the Crown of Karsus, evolving into something far more dangerous than we’ve ever encountered."
Jaheira’s face paled, but she didn’t waver. "Good thing you started with the good news," she muttered, her humor masking a growing sense of dread.
Her demeanor shifted, her gaze sharpening. "Can you defeat it?" she asked bluntly.
Alex nodded, though his eyes carried the weight of uncertainty. "I believe I can. But defeating the Elder Brain isn’t the biggest problem. The real danger lies in those infected with the tadpoles. One wrong move, and the city streets will be swarming with mind flayers."
Jaheira’s jaw clenched as she absorbed the gravity of his words. After a moment, she exhaled, her shoulders stiffening. "We’re deep in shit," she said plainly, her candor cutting through the tension like a knife.
The room fell silent, the weight of their shared burden pressing heavily on them. Finally, Jaheira straightened, her eyes meeting Alex’s with fierce determination.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Would you be kind and be my guard while I go meet some old friends?” Jaheira spoke with a smirk, her words carried a blend of teasing and purpose as she asked Alex.
Alex nodded without hesitation, his steady demeanor a clear sign of his readiness.
Jaheira’s sharp eyes swept over the group, her focus lingering on Shadowheart and the others. Just then, a small rat scurried from the shadows, its beady eyes glinting with an unnatural intelligence. Before their eyes, the creature’s form shimmered and twisted, growing and reforming until it stood as a halfling clad in dark leathers.
“Andal,” Jaheira addressed the figure, “escort them to one of our safehouses.”
Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her voice carrying a hint of resistance. “Why can’t we come too?”
Jaheira’s smirk widened, though her tone remained calm. “My old friends aren’t exactly welcoming to crowds. They might not take kindly to unfamiliar faces.”
Shadowheart glanced at Alex, as if seeking his judgment. With a brief nod from him, she sighed and seemed to relent, though the tension in her posture hinted at lingering wariness.
As Andal led the group away, Jaheira motioned for Alex to follow. The two navigated the tangled web of Baldur’s Gate’s Lower City, the streets growing narrower and darker with every turn. Shadows clung to the alleyways like predators waiting to pounce. The air grew thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh and decay, assaulting their senses with every step.
They soon entered a secluded alley where the glow of a single torch illuminated a burly, towering half-orc. He leaned casually against the wall, his hulking form radiating menace. A massive axe rested on his back, the weapon’s handle worn from years of use. His green garb marked him as part of a group, a uniform echoed by the four shadowy figures standing behind him. Their faces were hidden by cloth wraps, but their sharp eyes gleamed with quiet aggression.
All of them were members of the Guild
The half-orc loomed over them, his scarred face partially illuminated by the dim torchlight of the alley. His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. “Shouldn’t be wandering in dark alleys. Very dangerous hobby. Gets people killed.”
Jaheira, undeterred, smirked and crossed her arms. Her tone carried a teasing lilt, though her sharp eyes remained fixed on the orc. “Oh, but we’re perfectly safe with one of Nine-Fingers’ big, strapping boys to protect us. That’s her sigil on your ring, is it not?”
The half-orc stiffened, his thick fingers curling slightly. His eyes narrowed as he growled, “Eyes to yourself, elf.” His posture was threatening, his hulking frame leaning slightly toward her, the tension palpable.
Alex stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying a razor's edge. “Careful. That’s High Harper Jaheira you’re speaking to.”
The name hit the half-orc like a slap. His sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of recognition that spread across his face. “Jaheira...?” he repeated slowly, his tone now laden with disbelief. “The same Jaheira who burned down Fugal’s tea shop? I saw that fire. Very big. Strange smell.”
Jaheira arched an eyebrow, her smirk turning wry. “The fire was his own fault,” she said, her voice clipped with authority. “Bad enough he was adding silksrook to his brews, but he stored it poorly, too.”
The half-orc grunted, nodding as he processed her words. “Nasty little tea man. Sold me some of his rotten leaves once. Made me feel slow and stupid.” He thumped his chest lightly as if to reassure himself. “All better now, though.”
Without another word, he turned and walked a few steps to the left, stopping at a section of the alley wall. He placed his large hand on a seemingly solid brick, and with a faint shimmer of magic, the wall melted away to reveal a hidden passage. Behind it stood double wooden doors, battered and worn but sturdy, leading down into the shadows below.
“Go on, then,” the half-orc said gruffly, stepping aside. His gaze shifted between them, lingering a moment longer on Jaheira before he added, “If the Guildmaster doesn’t want you in her hall, she’ll tell you so herself.”
Jaheira walked ahead without hesitation, her confident stride enough to make even the half-orc shift his weight uneasily. Alex followed, his own presence steady and unreadable.
After descending a short, weathered staircase, the Guild Hall revealed itself in all its ominous grandeur.
The vast chamber stretched before them, its ceiling vanishing into the shadows above. The hall was a chaotic, labyrinthine sprawl of wooden walkways and suspended bridges, each structure looking barely stable yet undoubtedly functional. Flames from scattered torches danced on the walls, casting flickering light over the space and revealing decades of decay. The scent of mildew and damp wood mixed with something sharper—blood, perhaps, or old death.
The creak of planks underfoot echoed ominously as they moved, some boards darkened with what could only be old bloodstains.
Tattered banners hung limply from the walls, each adorned with the Guild’s insignia and marred with numerous tally marks. They seemed less like decorations and more like grim reminders of the countless lives claimed in this hall. Figures moved in the shadows, their presence felt more than seen. Some lingered in small groups, whispering in hushed tones, while others stalked the higher platforms, their eyes scanning every newcomer like hawks sizing up prey.
As they passed, Alex could feel the weight of dozens of gazes, some openly curious, others cold and calculating. Yet none dared approach as Jaheira led him through the maze of platforms and passageways.
In a corner, Alex’s attention was caught by a familiar face—Moll, the tiefling child he had met in the grove. She stood amidst crates and barrels, her small frame tense as she conversed with a human boy. The boy’s sun-touched blonde hair and weathered clothes suggested he had seen more than his fair share of hardship.
'I wonder what trouble they’re stirring up,' Alex thought, his curiosity tugging at the edges of his mind as he and Jaheira moved past them.
Ascending a short flight of stairs, they entered a space that resembled a bar. The counter was manned by a bugbear, its rough, hairy hands methodically wiping down the surface with a stained cloth. A few patrons sat at the bar, their heads turning to follow Jaheira and Alex as they passed. Their eyes lingered, full of suspicion, but no one moved to stop them.
Jaheira approached a door guarded by two sentries, their stances rigid and alert. At a subtle signal from Jaheira, one of the guards pushed the door open, its creak cutting through the low hum of the Guild Hall. The woman motioned with a jerk of her head for them to step inside.
The room beyond was starkly different from the chaotic hall outside. It resembled an office, its furnishings were elegant and well made. Stacks of papers and ledgers cluttered a heavy wooden desk at the center, while dim light from an overhead lantern cast long shadows on the walls.
Standing behind the desk was a woman of unassuming appearance—her brunette hair tied back simply, her features utterly average in every way. She might have been mistaken for a common clerk or merchant were it not for the sharp intelligence gleaming in her eyes.
Beside her stood a man cloaked in an air of mystery. His face was concealed by an ornate porcelain mask, red vein-like markings stretching outward from its edges like scars or signs of a strange affliction. His dark hair was tied back tightly, and the emerald-green robes he wore seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light, marking him as someone of importance—or danger.
The tension in the room was palpable as the woman turned her sharp gaze toward the man, her voice cutting through the heavy air like a blade.
“It’s an orphanage, Uktar. What would you have me do—seize their toys as payment?” she asked, her tone deadly serious but laced with scorn.
Uktar stiffened, his pride clearly pricked. “They failed to pay tribute. We should withdraw our protection, at the very least.”
The woman’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And cede more ground to the Stone Lord? Are you suggesting I yield even a single inch of this city—my city—to that cult?” Her voice carried a sharp edge that silenced any retort Uktar might have offered.
He hesitated but pressed on, his words faltering under her glare. “I… We already look weak. If you’re seen to be forgiving debts—”
“I didn’t say ‘forgive,’” she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. Her eyes glinted with cold determination. “Seize the building. Arm any children old enough to hold a blade. If they protect what’s mine, we’ll consider that a start on what’s owed.”
Uktar swallowed hard, bowing his head. “…Yes, Guildmaster.” He turned to leave but froze when his eyes landed on Jaheira and Alex standing in the doorway. His brow furrowed. “Excuse us—this is a private council.”
The Guildmaster stepped forward, waving Uktar off with a flick of her wrist. “Keep your underpants clean, Uktar,” she said dryly. “We’re playing host to a hero.” Her gaze settled on Jaheira, her lips curling into a sardonic smile. “You owe me a gold piece, grandmother. When I heard you’d died out in the wilderness, I made an offering at Kelemvor’s well.”
Jaheira smirked, her tone light but with an undertone of steel. “Of gold? I didn’t know I meant so much to you, Guildmaster.”
The woman chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. “I’m terribly sentimental. Case in point—I’ve just let a Harper walk through my Guildhall, noticeably unholed.” Her eyes shifted to Alex, her expression sharp with curiosity. “But I am curious—why are you here, and who have you brought with you?”
Alex remained silent, his presence steady and unreadable, leaving Jaheira to answer.
“This is the one who saved my life,” Jaheira said, gesturing to Alex. “So really, he owes you your gold piece. But we can settle debts later, Nine-Fingers. For now, we need help—we’re searching for Minsc of Rashemen.”
Nine-Fingers’ eyebrows lifted slightly, though her smirk remained in place. “A big name, that. Such information doesn’t come cheap, High Harper. Not in normal times. But… seeing as these are far from normal times, and we’re all such good friends…” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “I’ll do better than tell you where he is. I’m bringing him here as we speak. Or… parts of him, at least. I gave no orders about the condition of the corpse.”
Jaheira’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening with fury. “What treachery is this, Nine-Fingers? Have you thrown in with the Absolute, too?”
Nine-Fingers’ smirk turned icy. “Against my own city? Careful, Jaheira—you’re in very real danger of hurting my feelings. It’s Minsc who’s found faith with Faerûn’s newest god. And a new name to go with it—the Stone Lord.”
“Lies,” Jaheira hissed, her voice low and dangerous.
Nine-Fingers tilted her head, her expression mocking. “You say that name as if it means something.”
“It should,” Alex finally spoke, his voice calm but edged with authority.
“My people speak it in the same breath as Sarevok and Demogorgon. But he’s just another upstart, isn’t he?” Nine-Fingers’ smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. “In his short reign, the Stone Lord and his crew have earned a reputation. Pure brutality. No survivors. And wherever he cuts my people down, this ripe little cult takes root. But not for much longer. We have word of where he plans to hit next—and this time, we’ll be ready to strike back.”
Jaheira stepped forward, her voice firm. “Nine-Fingers—Astele. Call off your ambush. Tell us where he is, and we’ll handle this.”
Nine-Fingers crossed her arms, her gaze piercing. “We? I heard what happened to your Harpers, Jaheira. I’m sorry, but this fight’s too big for you alone.”
“She’s not alone,” Alex said, his tone unwavering. “She has me.”
For a brief moment, Nine-Fingers hesitated, her expression flickering with doubt. Alex subtly reached out with his psionic abilities, pressing gently against her mind. Her resolve cracked under the weight of his influence, and her words spilled out before she could stop them.
“The Stone Lord plans to attack the Counting House,” she admitted, her voice taut with frustration.
Jaheira’s eyes narrowed. “What would he want there?”
Nine-Fingers shrugged, her smirk returning. “Who knows?” But Alex, still reading her thoughts, could sense her irritation at not knowing the Stone Lord’s true intentions.
“If you need a moment, Jaheira,” Nine-Fingers added with a sly smile, “my Guildhall is open to you. Have a drink. Have a rest. Just leave well enough alone. It would be a shame for the city to lose you.”
As Jaheira and Alex left the Guildhall, the weight of their conversation lingered in the air. The narrow streets felt quieter, the shadows deeper.
“Thanks for the help,” Jaheira said softly as they made their way back to the safehouse, her voice heavy with unspoken gratitude and determination.