I shared this with my friends today- I wanted to make a post about it.

As much as, yes, Lance most likely loves animals so much. If in a world where he and Keith get married and live happily ever after (canon, in my head), he isn't the one constantly taking in animals.

It would be Keith.

THINK ABOUT IT, OKAY? THINK LONG AND FUCKING HARD hah- Keith took in Kosmo, a wild space wolf thing he knew practically nothing about (Yes, Krolia was there but still). He tamed him and stayed with him through the 2 years they were stuck on that space whale thing.

If Klance gets married and moves in together, Keith is the type to tell himself: "No, we don't need another animal in the house, I promise I won't take another in" and then immediately falls in love with the stray that they found and fed a portion of their food to and goes "Can we keep it?"

And I know for a fucking fact that Lance cannot help but just allow his husband to keep as many fucking pets until they eventually ran out of room and they got renovations to their damn backyard just for the animals.

Yes. Keith animal-lover headcanon. Fight me on this.

poison ivy & stinging nettles 25

On Ao3

Masterlist

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 24 - Chapter 26

Chapter 25-  Sunflower 

“I understand that this is a good idea for the long term,” Amelia said. “I really do, but I think we should have started with something simpler.”

She, Sherlock, and John were in her bedroom, with John carefully wrapping the potentially broken ankle she had managed during that day’s “training”.

“You need to be careful with this ankle,” John scolded. “You’re too old to keep injuring the same spots over and over.”

“That was months ago,” Amelia protested, but paled when John pressed a finger into a particularly tender spot. “I’m not old. I’m young compared to the two of you grumpy old men.”

“I don’t understand what was so difficult about the instructions,” Sherlock complained, lounging in Amelia’s chair by her fireplace. “I warned you to jump.”

“And then you pushed me over!” she insisted. “That’s not a jump, that’s a dodge or move out of the way.”

“I was trying to surprise you,” he explained. “A real threat isn’t going to announce what you need to do.”

“It’s been a month, I can barely throw a punch,” she replied.

“The bruise on his shoulder suggests otherwise,” John supplied quietly, tying off the wrap. “You should be all set. I’ll see if we can get you in for X-rays in the morning.”

“It didn’t take me this long to learn self-defense,” Sherlock continued, tossing a bundle of hair scrunchies in the air above him.

“I’m incredibly out of shape, and have noodles for limps,” Amelia added. “I’m not even attempting to attack this at the level you would have. I’d die.”

“I think you’re doing great,” John assured her. “You’re getting faster and your reflexes are getting better.”

“John’s my new head coach,” she high fived the doctor.

“John’s in charge of firearms,” Sherlock turned to face them. “We’ve been over this.”

“There was that nice Judo guy who wanted to show me something,” Amelia reminded him. “You just get mad when anyone else touches me.”

“That’s not true, I’m fine when you hug John,” he stated.

“Hug,” Amelia repeated with a laugh toward John. “He’s fine when we hug.”

“You’re too casually affectionate in general, but as long as it’s directed toward our friends, that’s tolerable,” he clarified.

“I’ll keep that in mind for my afternoon shag with Judo guy,” she retorted.

He looked to John for support, but the doctor did what he did best when the pair disagreed- held his hands up and backed out of the room.

“Not my fight,” he replied. “I’m going to shower.”

“I’m not casually affectionate,” she paused. “Just to you guys. And Mrs. Hudson. And Molly of course.”

“You touch everyone and everything at all times,” he raised a brow. “You’re very open with your feelings.”

“Oh,” she replied, voice dropping. “That’s not ideal, is it?”

If she was going to play detective with him and John, it probably was not in anyone’s best interest to show what she was truly thinking at a crime scene.

“Do you need to conceal your true thoughts on anything?” he asked.

She considered the question. If she was being frank, the answer was no. Most of her time was spent around those she cared for and loved. If she was happy, she was happy. If not, she certainly was not the type to try and hide it for very long.

“Am I a bad liar?” she asked.

“You have a tell,” he replied, leaning forward with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“You laugh,” he answered. “When you’re nervous, when you’re being sarcastic, and when you’re lying. Anytime you’re being disingenuous, you laugh.”

“That’s not too bad,” she considered, biting down a chuckle that threatened to rise. He just raised a brow and she sighed in defeat. “I’ll work on it.”

“Just like you’d work on beating me in Cluedo?” he challenged, standing up from the chair.

“Rematch, tonight,” she stood to meet his eye line, poking him defiantly in the chest. “We’ll have John play too, even the playing field a bit.”

“You’re going to lose.”

“You’re-,” she stopped, thinking about her reaction, pulling back the scowl that emerged. “Nope. I’m going to win.”

“I know you’ve been looking up strategies online, and they aren’t going to help you,” he looked down. “Because I’m the best there is, and you especially can’t fool me.”

“Maybe,” she hummed back. “But I can distract you.”

She moved to kiss him by stepping on her tiptoes, but having forgotten her ankle, ended up crashing forward when it collapsed under the shift in weight.

In a mass of momentum, they crashed to the ground, Sherlock buffing the fall with an arm, and dropping his head back when she landed on top of him.

“That could have been so much cuter if we’d landed on the bed,” she noted, peeking down at him. “Are you okay?”

“How did you make it to adulthood in one piece?” he asked. “There was no way you should have made it past infancy with how clumsy you are.”

“Recently I’ve had handsome gentlemen catching me, it’s been pretty nice,” she smirked. “I mean, look at this view.”

They were face to face, Amelia grinning over him, while Sherlock’s eyes traced every inch of her face.

He pulled her toward him, devouring her in a passionate kiss. Hands threaded through her hair; her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Amelia shifted for a better angle when her foot kicked a pile of canvas tucked next to her bed.

The artwork tumbled free, and she peeked up to see what had caused the commotion.

“Oh,” she turned and grabbed one of the pieces, a small painting of one of Mrs. Hudson’s teacups. “I forgot about that one.”

Ignoring Sherlock’s drawn-out sigh, she busied herself with replacing the knocked over pictures, pausing when she came to the last one.

“I never showed you the painting I meant to send to Brooklyn,” she realized, staring forward at the painting in question.

He sat up, realizing the moment was lost and tilted his head in her direction.

“You never sent it?”

“Never had the chance,” she replied, turning, and holding the large piece up.

The silhouette was familiar, a lithe man standing in a room covered top to bottom in books. He held a violin, his back to the viewer. In the foreground was a pile of sheet music with a single bookmark stuffed between piles of pages. On the bookmark was a delicately drawn sunflower.

It was painted with darker shades than most of Amelia’s other works, less floral and more warmth. Sherlock could picture the living room of Baker Street perfectly. The sound of fire crackling, the smell of leather bookbinding.

This was what she saw. It was comfortable, a little mysterious, but familiar. An old friend.

An adored lover.

“Does my hair really look like that from behind?” he asked, earning a snort from his companion. “I like it. The bookmark is a sentimental touch. What did you call it?”

“Faith,” she replied. “It’s one of the many meanings behind a sunflower. I thought it was appropriate.”

“How so?”

She looked at him, genuinely bewildered by the question.

How did he not know?

“You inspire people,” she answered, looking back at the details in the portrait. “You give people hope in a way. People believe in you.”

It was difficult to explain out loud- hence the portrait (she was an artist after all)- but Sherlock didn’t seem convinced at her explanation.

“Do you believe in me?” he asked simply.

“I painted you a portrait,” she laughed lightly. “I still live here after everything, and we spent the last five minutes making out on my floor. I’ll always believe in you.”

He seemed content with that answer, his hands snaking around her waist and encouraging her to replace the picture and pick up where they’d left off.

~~~

“This was a bad idea,” John voiced for the third or fourth time since the game started.

Amelia was wrapped up in Sherlock’s robe, fingers drumming on her chin while she studied the Cluedo board. She lifted her notecard, lowered it, and continued gazing at the board.

“She’s under this delusion that she can beat me,” Sherlock scoffed, twirling a pen between his fingers, leg jittering under the table.

“I will, this is it,” she announced, moving her piece. “Colonel Mustard, with the wrench, in the observatory.”

She motioned for John to open the packet; brows knitted in focus.

Even Sherlock leaned forward, watching their friend with interest.

“That’s right,” John held up the three cards. “You got it.”

Amelia threw down her cards and grinned, jumping up victoriously.

“I actually did it!” she looked to Sherlock, hands squeezed at her sides in excitement. “I beat you at Cluedo.”

“Impossible,” he grabbed her cards and notes, reading through everything. “How did you know I had the garden?”

“You showed John,” she replied excitedly. “I saw him scribble it down.”

“That’s cheating!” Sherlock snapped back.

“That’s deduction, my dear Mr. Holmes,” she smirked. “I thought all was fair in a game of Cluedo? Those were your rules.”

“I didn’t expect them to turn on me,” he huffed.

“I’m texting Lestrade,” John announced, phone pulled out. “He’s not going to believe this.”

“Don’t you-,” he whirled around at Amelia who was rapidly typing something into her own phone. “Who are you texting?”

“Mycroft,” she answered quickly. “He owes me twenty pounds.”

“You bet against this game?” he scowled, glaring back down at the board. “You must have cheated. John? Did you tell her anything?”

“You would have noticed if we’d been conspiring against you,” the doctor replied. “You lost. Accept defeat.”

“Unacceptable,” Sherlock paced out of the room toward the kitchen, returning with his finger pointed toward Amelia accusatorially. “You distracted me.”

“What?” she blinked up at him innocently.

“In your room, you threw yourself at me and threw my focus off,” he replied tersely. “You knew you could get the upper hand.”

“That sounds like a personal problem to me,” she smirked. “Besides, I’ve never distracted you before.”

“Are you naked under that bathrobe?” he demanded, stepping toward her.

“Jesus Sherlock,” John stood up. “She’s wearing pajamas, you can see them.”

“What did you do?” Sherlock pulled open the robe to reveal an old band shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. “You tricked me.”

“I outsmarted you,” she laughed. “Without being totally naked. I’m the superior detective. Dr. Watson, mark the date that I ascended to alpha detective within Baker Street.”

Sherlock’s face fell into a mix of horror, confusion, awe, and shock.

Without another word, he grabbed Amelia by the waist and threw her over his shoulder, trussing back to his room.

“John, find something to do that isn’t here,” he called over his shoulder before slamming his door shut.

Sherlock’s scramble to get Amelia undressed was met with her own quick hands tugging his belt free.

Frenzied hands up and down, pulling at buttons, running through one another’s hair, with hungry kisses, with Sherlock hiding her backward toward the bed.

“Are you sure?” he asked when she was down to a bra and underwear. She was ethereal. Her chest was flushed, her cheeks a mix of blush and freckles, curly hair astray-

“I’ve been waiting much longer than you have,” she purred, pulling him forward and meeting him with her lips.

John was partially out the door when he heard the ruckus upstairs. Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out of her flat, looking up and exchanging a knowing look with the doctor.

“About time,” she sighed, a bit of relief. She cringed when something crashed above them. “I hope that wasn’t the china.”

“I’d put those headphones Sherlock got you for Christmas on,” he advised dryly. “I think we’re in for a long night.”

Chapter 26

Old Friends {Zarkon x Reader}{Request}

Words: 2931

  Genre: Angst

  Notes:  oof I don't know how to write fluff for Zarkon, so I just went all out on the angst lol. I hope you like it!! x

---

     Being dragged in front of the Galra emperor was not how you had planned on spending your Sunday evening.

   All had been going perfectly well – sure, you weren't meant to be in the Galra empire, but you thought for sure that your old friend Zarkon would be willing to make an exception just this one time. With the history the two of you had, surely seeing you wouldn't be such a bad thing?

   You had woken up, risked a brisk walk around the streets of the empire. It had been just that, though – a risk, a stupid one now that you thought about it. To everyone within the Galra empire, you were nothing more than a fugitive, banished from your home country all because of some false claims that the emperor had made of you in an attempt to get rid of you, just so he wouldn't have to deal with the risk of you exposing him to everybody.

   Zarkon had always been that foolish. You had grown up with the man, seen him during his rise as a Paladin all the way to his downfall as an oppressor of his own people. Although you disagreed with the majority of the things he insisted on doing, it didn't mean you were going to throw him under the bus for it all.

    But your brisk walk had led to this – you being dragged into the foyer of the emperors ship, two Galra generals on either side of you and a chain dragging along the ground; it truly was a sight to see. You caught a glimpse of yourself in one of the metal shutters, winced at the mess of your hair that had only gotten that way due to the fight you insisted on putting up whenever the generals had made to grab for you. Your ankle was already swollen from you trying to pull the chain from it, and there were dots of blood lining your foot, dribbling down and trailing along the ground as you walked.

    He did this. It was him. He was so worried about what you might do, about what information you might expose that he had insisted on putting you in chains. Chains. As if you were some kind of animal, some kind of beast that needed to be kept under lock and key.

   You suppressed the urge to snarl at him as the doors to the foyer opened, and Zarkon was suddenly in front of you.

   No words could be strung together to describe how you felt in this moment, because everything was conflicted. Your old friend, the man you once knew seated in front of you with a crown atop his head and an evil smirk adorning his face. You had once claimed to love him, had once given him your everything, and he was doing this to you.

   You wanted to be mad at him. Wanted nothing more than to pry the chains off of your feet and leap for him, gouge his eyes out with your claws, but there was another side of you that felt the urge to buckle, collapse to the floor and let the emotions take over. Even after all these years, you couldn't rid your brain of the memories he had embedded in your mind, the years of working with the lions where he had given you his everything and you had given it all right back.

    It shamed you to say you still recognised that man, even with the glint of evil that had now poisoned his very being.

   His eyes never left yours as you were shoved to your knees in front of the throne he was seated upon. Your knees crashed onto the floor, causing you to grit your teeth at the harsh contact. You refused to make a noise, refused to give him the satisfaction of your pain.

    “Thank you, guards,” he spoke up, nodding to the generals who had oh-so-kindly dragged you in here. “You can leave us now.”

   “Are you positive, emperor Zarkon?” one of the generals asked.

   “Why would he say it if he wasn't positive?” you barked, shooting the guard a glare. The guard glared right back at you, the one to your left sending a foot into your ribcage in an attempt to shut you up. You hissed, stumbling a little bit but catching yourself on the metal floor.

    Zarkon chuckled darkly. “Yes, I am sure. I want to talk to Y/N in private. It seems like we have a lot of catching up to do.”

   As the generals left the room, clearly not too keen on the idea of leaving you alone in the same room as their beloved emperor, you risked a glance at the Galra in front of you.

   His metallic red suit glinted under the lights surrounding him, his violet eyes never leaving yours and making you feel as if you had done something wrong. You remembered a time when you would sit in front of him at dinner, the other Paladins surrounding the two of you, but it would never feel that way. It would always feel like it was just you and Zarkon, sending each other sly smirks across the table, silently having a conversation whilst everyone else spoke.

   Those had been the good old days, but even now, it was as if he was speaking to you through nothing more than his gaze; old habits died hard.

    “You're just going to execute me anyway,” you grumbled out after a moment of silence. “Get it over with. Come on. I don't want to cut into your precious time.”

    Zarkon smirked. “Do you think so little of me to believe that I would execute one of my oldest companions?”

    “I'm sure you wouldn't have thought twice about ending Alfor's life.”

   “Alfor and I had a rocky relationship,” Zarkon replied. “You and I, however, have very strong history.”

  You shivered. Hearing him bring up your past like that, with so much casualness, as if nothing had changed between the two of you, was chilling.

    “You know, I never stopped thinking about you,” he continued, his voice as smooth as it had always been. “I was always wondering where you were, what you were getting up to. Always wondering what my little Y/N had made of herself.”

    “Don't call me that.”

   “Oh? We're no longer on a nickname basis?” He smiled to himself, leaned back on his grand throne with his hands folded in front of him. “A shame, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I'm willing to be quiet.”

    You winced. “You have a son now, do you now?”

   “Lotor, yes. A trouble maker at best.”

   “Where is he, then? Does he know about your unfair exile of one of your oldest friends?”

   Zarkon pursed his lips. “He knows about you. Knows how I feel about you. I haven't kept my feelings a secret, Y/N, but I have to put my empire first.”

   Your blood boiled. You were finding it more and more difficult to bite back the harsh comments, to keep yourself calm. You knew he wanted you riled up, wanted to push a reaction out of you, and it was working. Against everything, it was working.

   “You always claimed that you loved me, Zarkon, but you were so quickly to banish me whenever you saw me as a threat,” you growled through gritted teeth. “You knew I had information that could rip your entire little empire to the ground, and you put a price on my head. Tell me how that is love?”

    A shadow flickered over the emperors expression. “You can question whatever facts you want to, but you knew I loved you. I never kept that a secret from you.”

   You bristled, clenching your fists at your side. “No. No, you just hid the fact that you planned on having me exiled from my home. But at least I know you loved me.”

    “Love you,” he corrected, and you were fairly certain your heart had stopped beating in your chest. There was a roaring in your ears from the blood pounding through you, but all went silent as soon as his confession rang out across the foyer.

    It burned. It was a physical pain in your chest, a clamp pressing down on every emotion you had tried so hard to shove away for the past few years – after Alfor's death, you didn't even want to return to the Galra empire anyway. Not with Zarkon, not with anyone. You wanted to avenge your friends death, find Princess Allura and help her rebuild the planet that had been destroyed by your people.

   And yet you had been dragged back. Your curiosity had gotten the better of you. This was your home, after all. These were your people.

    “You have no right to say that to me,” you growled, ducking your head down. If he looked into your eyes now, you knew the game would be over; every single emotion you were suppressing would come to the surface, and Zarkon would know. He would see right through you, just as he had always been able to do.

   “I know you feel the same way,” he purred. “Or at least, you once did. I must admit, my little Y/N, that you've definitely gotten a lot better as disguising your feelings. Even from me. The man who knows you better than anyone else on this planet.”

  “You have no idea who I am now!” you roared, head shooting up, body lurching forward. The chains rattled, sending pain to dart up your leg and for you to crumble back against them. Your breath was coming out in sharp pants now, sweat lining your forehead, mingling with the tears as they trickled down the side of your head. “You exiled me, Zarkon! You got rid of me, just as you always wanted to! So do not sit upon that throne and tell me you know me when you haven't seen me in the past two years!”

   For a second, you were fairly certain you had actually managed to shock the man. Eyes glazed over with something close to annoyance, a muscle twitching in his jaw just enough for it to be noticeable.

   But then he was smiling again, that god forsaken grin that had your stomach reeling with a mix of desire and absolute disgust at your own emotions – he had exiled you. He was the man who had destroyed the peace your people once held, the man who had selfishly gotten rid of the girl he claimed to love all because he was scared of her knowing too much.

    “You can't deny that we know each other well,” he said. “Even after such a long time apart, I know your secrets. I know your past. I listened to you, Y/N. Better than any of the others did – better than Alfor did. You still looked up to him like he was some kind of god.”

   “He was a better man than you were,” you growled out.

   “That's not what you thought whenever the team was all together.”

   You closed your eyes, resisting the urge to spit in his face. He would send for his generals, have you dragged into the dungeons for good if you stepped out of line. Being in his presence was hurting you, but the last thing you wanted was to endure the torture of being locked behind Galra bars.

   So you refrained, slumped down against the floor until your elbows were hitting against the cold metal. Zarkon watched you. You knew he was. You could feel his eyes burning into you as you gave up entirely, let the exhaustion coat your body and grab at your emotions all over again.

   “You're right,” you ground out. “I didn't think you were a bad man whenever we were all together. Because back then, you had morals. You wanted to help the universe just as much as the rest of us did.” You glanced up at him then, a dark shadow cast over your expression. “But then the jealousy got the better of you.”   He clenched his fists, jaw hardening. “I was never jealous of Alfor. I was never jealous of any of them.”

   “There's no point in lying,” you scoffed. “Everyone could see it. You wanted all the power, wanted to take Voltron above and beyond what everyone else wanted – that was what drove you to be the horrible person you are now. That's what led you to drive your people into the ground, Zarkon.”

   “My people are thriving!” he exclaimed. “Under my rule, no other race has even dared get close to us. They're terrified. My people are the safest in the universe.”

   “You're people are throwing themselves into battles that do not need to be fought!” you yelled. “Innocent Galra are dying because you want to stir up a fight with some innocent planet that you have no right to even be near! You call that ruling? You call that keeping your people safe?”

   “I call that dominance,” Zarkon growled. “I love you, Y/N, but I refuse to take scrutiny from someone who was willing to help human beings take down her own people.”

   “You know it wasn't like that,” you hissed. “I was helping Voltron, because Voltron is where I belong. It's my home, whether you and Alfor are there or not. And truth be told, the new Paladins are much better than we ever were – they know what they're doing. They can agree on things!”

   “They're trying to take down my empire! They've gone against your people time and time again, and you've sat back and watched them do it.”

   “Go to hell!” you spat, chains rattling. “They've been doing the right thing this entire time – trying to keep planets from getting obliterated by you! All they want is peace, and you're the only person getting in the way of that.”

   Zarkon scowled. “I've heard enough. I want you out of my sight.”

   “Thank the Gods for that,” you hissed, just as the Galra generals came bursting through the door. You didn't fight them as they wound their arms through yours and dragged you back, Zarkon yelling for them to throw you into the dungeons to await a later trial.

   You didn't look away from Zarkon as you were dragged backwards, didn't look away from the man you once loved more than anything in the world.

  ---

   Zarkon couldn't hold your eyes. For the first time in his 10,000 year reign, he couldn't look someone in the eyes.

   He had always prided himself on his stubbornness when it came to getting what he wanted. He was able to intimidate people in the easiest of ways, but the way you were looking at him now had his cheeks flushing and his head ducking down to look at his folded legs.

   He had spoken a great deal, but from the moment he had seen you being dragged into the foyer – hell, from the moment he knew you were in the Galra empire – his entire world had crumbled around him, but at the same time, it was like his world was suddenly reborn.

   He remembered you so well. Remembered you everyday, suffered through the pain and regret of ever letting you go. It had been him who had ordered your exile, him who had been too scared of the things you knew – because you had seen every single side to him. You had seen him cry, had been the one to hold him as tears ran down his face – tears he hadn't shed in years. Tears he wouldn't let himself shed any more.

   But that was back when he was nothing more than a weasel pressed beneath the thumb of Alfor. It was Alfor this, Alfor that. It had gotten to the point where even you had started to look up to the Altean king more than you had ever looked up to Zarkon, and that had hurt. More than anything else, seeing you slowly lose interest in him had hurt most.

    He hated himself for yelling at you, hated himself for exiling you to the dungeons, but his people would expect nothing less. His people looked at him, and they expected him to be dominant, to not let anything pass; he had to keep that persona up, even if it shredded apart his entire being, made you look at him with that hatred in your eyes.

   Even though you had yelled and snarled and said hurtful things, Zarkon could see that there was still a glimmer of the old you locked within. He could see it in your eyes – sure, you had gotten better at hiding your feelings, but you loved him. You loved him, and he loved you, and he knew that. There was no hiding such an emotion whenever the feeling was so strongly reciprocated.

   He leaned back in his throne after the doors of the foyer had slammed shut. His generals swarmed him, asking questions about your fate, but he ignored them all.

   He just needed this moment. Just this single moment to catch his bearings, to remember you for the woman you once were. To remember himself for the man he once was – the man you had fallen in love with.

Chapter 10: Feast of Fortunes

Argibold sat with the party in the basement of their tavern. The party provided with Argibold with a brief synopsis of the adventure they had been sent on. The town called Tammel was now safe from goblin threats thanks to a wizard who had made an enchanted orb to keep evil at bay. Argibold held a blank stare while they relayed this information. He didn’t give much of an indication he was really listening, but he seemed to be absorbing the information all the same. After the briefing of the mission itself, Niama concluded by, “There were also mentions of a war currently happening to the north in a city called Storm Hold. We were wondering if you might want us to check into it.” Argibold’s eyes widened only slightly at the sound of the name of the city, Storm Hold. “Yes. I’ll look into it an see if you should go and help or not.” He looked to be lost in thought. Something clearly bothered him, which was odd. Pumpeck was the one that picked up on his unease the most. She leaned in on her seat and asked, “Is there something you want to tell us about this place?” Argibold blinked a few times and his face returned to its usual neutral position. “Anything I want to tell you? No. Though I suppose there are a few things I should tell you.” He hopped down from his seat and walked slowly to the back of the basement where the suit of armor was held. “Storm Hold is a city that is familiar to me. I lived there for a short while. My best friend, Tungdil Silverbeard, was from there. He and I were a two-person adventuring party. Him, with his raw physical prowess, and me, with my knowledge of the arcane. There wasn’t a single task the two of us couldn’t accomplish when we worked together.” Argibold now stood in front of the armor. The party couldn’t see the sorrow in his eyes with his back turned to them. “He died on our last quest. His home city, Storm Hold was attacked by a dragon ten years ago. It was in that battle I lost my arm, and Tungdil sacrificed himself so that I may live.” He lifted his viscous purple arm to gesture to the golden suit of armor emblazoned with red flames. “This armor is now all I have to remember him by. His weapons were buried with him, as is customary for the warriors of Storm Hold.” Thorfreyer shook his head. “You had us fight a suit of armor that belongs to your dead friend?” Argibold shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose I missed watching him fight. Watching the armor move like he did brings me back to better times.” Thorfreyer walked towards Argibold. “Was there” he paused. Not sure if he wanted to ask. “Was there something romantic going on there?” There was a brief silence until they heard a small sniff come from Argibold. He turned around and said, “I tell you this, so you know Storm Hold holds a special place in my heart. Though, I fear I may not be able to return there myself. Storm Hold resents me, believing I was not worth the sacrifice of their hero. They all believe I should be dead while Tungdil should be alive. If they could kill me and bring him back, they would.” His head lowered and he said to himself. “And I don’t entirely disagree.” Niama stood now and said, “Would you like us to make our way to Storm Hold to help?” Argibold shook his head. “Not yet. We need more information on what’s happening before I send you there. For now, go do as you will while Faelyn and I do what we can to discover more about what is happening.” The party broke off and wet upstairs to leave Argibold to his research. Pumpeck lingered and watched Argibold begin to scurry through various books. He quickly seemed to be back to his regular self. Pumpeck walked over to him as he grabbed several books from a nearby bookshelf. “Argibold?” “Yes, Pumpeck?” “What exactly are you going to do to learn about the situation if you can’t go there yourself?” Argibold held up some of the books he grabbed. “Divination magic, mostly. I admit it’s not my specialty, but I should be able to learn a great deal. If push comes to shove, I’ll send Faelyn there physically to do recon in the city.” Pumpeck nodded. “I see.” She waited a moment. “Argibold?” “Yes, Pumpeck?” Pumpeck held her eyes to the floor, unsure of what to say. “Are you okay? Do you need to talk about what happened to your friend?” Argibold stopped what he was doing and froze where he stood. It wasn’t something he had ever really talked about with anyone. The only people that knew were the people of Storm Hold, and they all thought it was his fault. Argibold turned his head to look at Pumpeck. She could see his eyes had a peculiar sheen to them. “Talking about it won’t bring him back.” Pumpeck realized that this was something he didn’t want to talk about. It did happen a decade ago after all. He probably already came to terms with it. But, there still seemed to be lingering problems in his head that Pumpeck couldn’t quite figure out. She decided to leave the topic alone for now and head up to bed. On her way up, she looked into the tap room to see the jovial crowd. Niama and Thorfreyer had joined in at this point and had their own drinks. Pumpeck went over in sat with them as they watched Willow perform. She hopped up and sat on a stool next to them. “How is he?” She asked the table. Niama shrugged her shoulders. “He’s actually not that bad, considering how much of a pompous prick he is.” Thorfreyer laughed. “You’re actually just in time. We just ordered some tomatoes.” Pumpeck perked up a little. “Oh, I love tomatoes!” Right on cue, a hand full of tomatoes floated on to the table, held by an unseen servant that now enchanted the tavern. Thorfreyer shook his head. “I’ll never get used to that.” Niama picked up a tomato and tossed it a few times, testing its weight. “Get over it. Just get a few and start throwing.” Niama and Thorfreyer started throwing the tomatoes at Willow while he preformed on the small stage. Laughter erupted as his white leathers were slowly but surely stained red. Pumpeck reached and grabbed a tomato and started eating it like an apple, sucking out the juices with each bite. Willow, humiliated by the display ran off the stage and upstairs, presumably to his room. On his way up the stairs, Thorfreyer threw one last fruit at the musician with such force, that when it hit him in the ankle, his legs were thrown out from under him. He tumbled back down to the bottom of the stairs and lay still for a while. The whole crowd laughing at his misfortune. Pumpeck looked at Niama and Thorfreyer. “Why did you do that to him?” Niama scoffed. “He got in the way of our last mission. He made it significantly more difficult than it needed to be, so now I’m making his life more difficult than it needs to be, at least for a while.” Pumpeck shook her head and looked to Thorfreyer who shrugged his shoulders at her. “I just thought it would be funny.” He smirked. Pumpeck shook her head and sighed. She felt bad for Willow deep down. She knows that he was in the way when they tried to save Nariel, but he wasn’t a bad guy. When he stepped between Nariel and the party, he truly believed that he was protecting her from kidnappers. He showed courage and loyalty towards Nariel, even if it was an arranged marriage. He didn’t deserve the treatment he was getting now. Pumpeck hopped off her chair and walked to wear Willow ad fallen, he wasn’t horribly injured, but a fall like that wouldn’t feel good. She placed her hands on his back and healed the wounds he received. Upon being healed, Willow looked up to Pumpeck and quickly shoved her hands off of him. He stood and said “You’re the one who cut off my hand aren’t you? I don’t want any help from you, you’ve done enough to me.” He bolted up the stairs so fast, he didn’t get a chance to hear Pumpeck say, “I’m sorry.”

The next morning the party gathered downstairs to discuss their plans for the day. They didn’t have a mission ready to go, and Argibold was still looking into the war in the north. Niama posed an idea to them all. “Since we don’t have a job, why don’t we take Argus up on that dinner offer?” “Who?” Said Pumpeck. “Argus.” Niama responded. “The banker we saved in the forest when we were on our way to save Nariel. He said he would treat us to a feast as gratitude.” Thorfreyer stood up and clapped his hands together. “Well, if it’s free food we get, I’m in.” Niama recalled that Argus wanted to be informed no later than the morning of their arrival. She set about writing a missive to send to the Baramore estate. With the letter sent, all that was left was to make preparations, and wait until dinner time. Rum looked Thorfreyer up and down and said, “Maybe we should go out and get you some clothes. I don’t think showing up in a ratty pants and no shirt would reflect well on our group.” Thorfreyer looked down to his minimal clothing and shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is what all the warriors in my home village wear.” Nariel had been holding her tongue on the matter, but the way Thorfreyer dressed had bothered her for quite some time now. Though, she did grow up in a castle where everyone was always properly dressed. She supposed she might have some bias on the matter. She walked over to Thorfreyer and pointed a finger at him. “That doesn’t matter. We aren’t in your village and the way you dress isn’t fit for dinner at a mansion.” Thorfreyer rolled his eyes. “What do you want from me, pointy ears?” Nariel’s face turned red. “I want you to put some damn clothes on!” “Seconded.” Said Niama, nodding her head. Thorfreyer sighed. “I don’t get what the big deal is. I’m covered in fur. It’s not like I’m naked.” Nariel pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s not the point.” Her eyes widened and she looked to Niama. “Is Faelyn here?” Niama squinted. “Why would I know that?” Nariel, without saying another word, ran upstairs. The rest of the party watched in bewilderment as she did so, unsure of what to make of the elves’ actions. They were lost in such confusion, that as quickly as she had left, she returned and was pulling Faelyn by the wrist, saying “Just come on, I think you can help us out here.” They reached the bottom of the stairs and Faelyn said, “Yeah, no, that’s great. Love being man handled in the morning. What can I do you for?” Nariel gestured to Thorfreyer. “You’re a wizard, right? Can you conjure clothes for him to wear?” “Well” Said Faelyn. “I am an illusionist. Conjuration magic isn’t exactly my major. I can make it look like he is wearing clothes.” “That might work.” “For an hour.” “Yeah, I don’t think that will work.” Nariel scratched her chin a moment. “I would really like to do this without spending money, but we may not have a choice. Could you illusion some clothes onto him just so we know what to buy him?” Faelyn blinked a couple times. This, typically, was not the sort of task his magic was used for, but practice was practice he supposed. He unlatched his staff from a strap around his back and pointed it at Thorfreyer. The minotaur’s eyes narrowed ad he said, “Better not try any funny business.” “Relax. Even if I wanted to hurt you, worst I could do is throw a mote of fire at you, and honestly, I don’t want the tap room to smell like burnt hair. Now hold still. At worst, this may tickle a little.” Faelyn drew a sigil in the air that glowed a sky blue. Within a second, the party saw that Thorfreyer was now wearing a full suit, complete with a vest and bow tie. They stared, stunned that Thorfreyer could pull off a suit surprisingly well.   “Want me to play with the colors a bit?” asked Faelyn. Thorfreyer looked down and saw that the whole suit was black, but the vest and tie were blue. “Change it to green.”  At his request, Faelyn snapped his fingers and the blue changed to green. Nariel clapped her hands together and had a big grin on her face. “Oh, it looks perfect. Let’s go into the city and find something just like that.” Thorfreyer stepped forward, dispelling the illusion. “I don’t think there is anywhere in this city that makes suits for minotaurs.” Faelyn shrugged. “Minotaurs, no. But there is a tailor that specializes in making clothes for monsters. She is a goblin who operated in the south part of the market district.” “A goblin is living in the city and has a clothes store?” Asked Thorfreyer. “Just because she’s a goblin, doesn’t mean she’s evil. I pass by the shop on my way to black staff tower. She seems nice enough.” Said Faelyn Thorfreyer looked to the rest of the party who were giving him disapproving looks. He wanted to fight them on it, but he figured it wasn’t a fight worth having. He would go along with it and wear the suit for dinner and go back to being himself once it had concluded. He didn’t like the idea of playing along, but some battles were not worth having. The group left the Dusty Dunes to search of the tailor Faelyn had mentioned. Faelyn remained at the tavern, explaining that he has a report due at the end of the week. The party enjoyed their walk through the cobble stone streets of Waterdeep. Despite it being their home, it wasn’t too often that they got out and experienced the city itself. Every street had citizens roaming about, each one intent on living their lives. It did always baffle them as well how diverse the people of the city were. Within a single minute it was possible to see dwarves, elves, humans, and races of all shapes and sizes, all agreeing to live together in peace and harmony despite their differences. This high threshold for the odd is what led Thorfreyer to this city in the first place. He loved to fight, but he wasn’t a trouble maker and if one did not cause trouble in Waterdeep, you were left alone for the most part. Being turned into a minotaur had been hard on him at first. Every town he went to greeted him with torches and pitchforks and living in isolation in the wilderness would be enough to ware down anyone’s psyche given enough time. He was glad to have found a home in Waterdeep after years of wandering. At the corner of Dagger Run Road, the party saw a sign hanging above a building, which read, “Taylor’s Tailor.” And the sign was cut to look like the head of a goblin. As they got closer, they could see in through the window various clothes of all sorts of sizes. Even a jacket that could fit a troll if it were so inclined. They nodded at each other and walked in, figuring they had the right location. As they passed through the threshold of the door, a small bell rang above their head and they heard a small voice yell from the back of the store, “I’ll be with you in just a moment. Fell free to browse while you wait.” The party started wondering, hoping to find something that could fit Thorfreyer’s build, and by fortune, the sections were labelled by creature type. They started to look through the variety of creatures this goblin made clothes for. Goblin (obviously), Troll, Ogre, Hill Giant, Orc. This place really did have something for everyone. After a bit of browsing, a tiny goblin made her way from the back of the room. She was immaculately dressed, wearing a gorgeous red dress and a hat topped with feathers. “Greetings,” She said with a curtsy. “My name is Taylor. How can I help you today?” Nariel curtsied in response and said, “We have an important dinner tonight and was wondering if you made anything that could fit a minotaur.” Gesturing to Thorfreyer. Taylor smiled and gave a nod. “Absolutely. Making clothes for minotaur is easy enough. Just a muscular human type fit, then size it up a lot. Looking for anything specific?” The party described the illusory suit Thorfreyer had worn back at the tavern while Taylor listened intently. She nodded and said, “I believe I have just the thing for you.” she walked over to a section labelled “Minotaur” and started sifting through the clothes. It was odd for the rest of the party to see the proportions. The pants being far too small to match the size of the torso. And, were those horn warmers they just saw? Taylor finally settled on a suit and brought it to Thorfreyer. She urged him to go to the changing room to try it on and he did just that, not understanding why he couldn’t change where he stood. After a few moments, he emerged and looked just as sharp and dashing as the illusion had advertised it would make him. The party decided to purchase the suit for Thorfreyer so that they would be sure he would be appropriately dress for dinner. After a brief exchange and a transfer of 30 gold pieces, the party was ready to depart. Before they left, Niama approached the small goblin and asked “If you don’t me asking, why are you doing this? Making clothes for monsters in a city like Waterdeep seems odd.” Taylor responded with a smile. Her head turned, scanning her inventory. With a soft sigh, she looked back to Niama. “Those who are considered monsters like me don’t have much of a place in this city. They say it’s a city for all, but those like me and my friends are still seen for what we’ve always been seen: monsters. I wanted to create a place where those like me don’t have to worry about being treated unfairly for who they are. This is a place where anyone can come and feel welcome and feel like they are a part of this society.” Niama stopped to consider. Since coming to Waterdeep, she had seen tremendous acts of kindness that she didn’t know could be possible. Pumpeck, who was so pure of heart, this goblin going out of her way to make the disenfranchised feel welcome, and even Thorfreyer who always stood up for his friends when they needed him. Back home, these acts were not common place. Ever even heard of, really. Though, looking back, she never gave the people from her home much of a chance. Growing up with her mother was difficult. The people believed her mother a witch and that Niama herself was a monster. Maybe, if her home had a place like this, things would have turned out differently. She looked to Taylor and said, “What you’re doing here is admirable. I wish you luck.” Taylor nodded and said “Thank you” With that, Niama left with the party to make preparations for dinner. The day of shopping itself lasted most of the day. The party only had a brief amount of time back at the tavern. They quickly got dressed and made their way out of the tavern on the road to the Baramore estate. As they approached their destination, the buildings became steadily larger and more spread out, even the materials changing from wood work to more stone work houses. Noticing this, they presumed that the rich enjoyed their space. While walking, a bird fluttered down to land on Niama’s shoulder. It was a small bird that looked like a finch. The only oddity being that it had four legs, instead of the standard two. Niama stared for a moment and the bird stared back. She knew that there were spells that allowed people to converse with animals. She decided to see if she could pull it off, knowing now that she could create some form of magical influence on the world. She focused her intent on the bird and tried to understand what it was saying, and an incantation came from within her. She spoke aloud an incantation and could suddenly hear words from the bird. It looked at her and said. “You, are not a tree. You smelled of trees.” Niama opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “No. No, I am not a tree.” “Why do you carry the essence of trees?” “Well, I grew up in a forest and lived in a tree.” “You are wise to do so. Trees are wonderful homes.” While this exchange happened, the party looked at Niama, who was currently tweeting at a strange bird on her shoulder. “Do you want to stay on my shoulder?” She asked, hoping she could make friends with this creature. The bird pondered a moment. “Hmm. I do like trees. You are like a tree. And like trees as well. This arrangement is acceptable.” “Uhh.  Right.” Niama looked to her party and started to tweet at them. When she realized they couldn’t understand her, she shook her head in embarrassment and reverted to the common tongue. “So, this is my new best friend. I’m naming him Peck, and he thinks I’m a tree.” They party looked on in confusion, not entirely sure what to make of what she was saying. Before anyone could ask a question, she said “Alright, let’s go to dinner.” The party shrugged their shoulders, accepting that they would now have a bird along for the ride. They arrived at the Baramore estate with no issue. The building was a small mansion surrounded by a large yard with a metal fence surrounding it. Two guards stood at the entrance gate and straightened as they saw the party approaching. Getting closer, each member of the party pulled out their coin that Niama had received from Argus that would allow them entry to the estate. Without a word, they handed the coins to the guards who allowed them entry with no issues. They walked along the stone pathway to the mansion and saw a young girl playing with a large dog in the yard. She couldn’t have been any older than ten and they had assumed that she was the child of Argus. She was enraptured with the dog to the point where she didn’t seem to notice the guests. They reached the front door and grabbed the knocker, which had the face of a devil with emerald eyes.  A few moments pass and the door opened, revealing a tiefling with gray skin and black hair. He gestured for the party to enter and said, “Welcome to the Baramore estate. I am Sebastian, butler of the house.” The party entered in the foyer and waited for directions from Sebastian. The tiefling walked past them and said, “Allow me to direct you to your hosts.” He led them down a hallway and opened a large double door, revealing a large study that had a few book shelves and desks. In the center of the room was Argus and his wife, who were in the middle of a game of chess, though it was not a form of chess any members of the party were familiar with. The board itself was comprised of three separate boards that were held in three different locations vertically. They were seated close to a fire place that had a large banner hanging above it. Niama looked at the banner which was a deep burgundy. Its white symbol was that of a whip with nine strands. The symbol was exactly like the birth mark she had, and exactly the same as the symbol that now adorned her bow. Argus rose from his seat and clapped his hands. “Ah, our esteemed guests. Welcome to our home.” He said with a bow. Recela Baramore stood as well and dipped into a shallow curtsy and wore an easy smile. Argus greeted each member and shook their hands individually. He stopped at Nariel. “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before.” Nariel nodded. “I’m afraid we have not. To my understanding, my friends here met you on their way to rescue me.” “Ah, yes.” Said Argus. “To my understanding, that mission was a flaming success.” Nariel’s mind flashbacked to the image of her home kingdom going up in flames as the she fled the scene via teleportation. Her face turned a little red realizing she hadn’t spoken in a while. She blinked once and said “Yup” and turned away to look at the odd version of chess in the room. Argus beckoned them all out of the study and made their way to the dining room. The dining room had another banner in it that bore the same symbol of the whip and gave Niama steadily greater concerns. They all took their seats and waited for the food to arrive on the table. Niama decided to ask about the symbol adorning the house. “That is a lovely banner.” She said. “What is the symbol on it? If you don’t mind me asking.” Argus shifted his gaze to the banner. “Ah yes, this is the symbol-“ “Of Loviatar.” Pumpeck said, cutting him off, looking him directly in the eyes. “The goddess of pain and suffering. Referred to as the willing whip.” Argus smiled. “I see you know your theology.” Pumpeck made no indication she was just spoken to. “She is in direct opposition to my goddess, Liira, the lady of joy.”   “Now, now.” Said Argus. “No need for a discussion of religion at this meal. This is a simple get together to show our gratitude.” Niama rested a hand on Pumpeck’s shoulder, a silent gesture in an attempt to convince her to let it go. Pumpeck let out a soft sigh and decided to drop it for now. Veldora on the other hand wasn’t as amenable as Pumpeck. He closed his eyes and concentrated, attempting to detect any evil presence in the area. His eyes opened with a start when he detected the amount of evil radiating from below them. He did not know what, but something was down there. He nudged Rum and Thorfreyer sitting next to him and whispered. “Guys, we should make ourselves brief. There is a lot of evil coming from the basement.” “What do you mean evil?” said Thorfreyer. Rum shook his head. “We literally just learned this guy worships some goddess of torture. What do you think he means?” The door to the dining hall opened to reveal the butler, Sebastian, rolling in a cart full of food, the aroma of freshly cooked meats and vegetables began to fill the room. Sebastian placed the spread on the table. Argus said, “Thank you, Sebastian. That shall be all for now.” The Tiefling butler nodded and said. “No need to thank me sir. I am simply one hell of a butler.” The dinner began and the party started stuffing their faces with food. They figured that even if they were devil worshippers, they were still indebted to their heroes. No reason could be thought of for any kind of underhanded attack by Argus and Recela. Nariel leaned over to Pumpeck and Niama who were sitting next to her and whispered. “I overheard the guys talking. There is something evil coming from the basement.” Niama looked at her and said. “How did you overhear them?” Nariel simply pointed to her ears. Niama nodded and said. “What do you want us to do about it?” They heard Pumpeck say. “Well, I know what I’m going to do about it.” She spoke now at a volume that the whole table could hear. “So, Argus, how did you come to be a follower of Loviatar?” Argus swallowed his mouthful of food and responded. “Well, when we moved here, we fell on rather hard times. None of the businesses we had attempted got off the ground.” His gaze shifted downward. “We slowly but surely became desperate. Desperate to survive. We saw no other choice but to throw our fate into the hands of the gods, and Loviatar responded. She had told us to become bankers and do her work in this world, and we would have no more troubles. So that is what we did.” “Any particular reason for a banker?” Pumpeck asked. “We essentially provide loans to anyone in need of money. Most can pay them back, however, it is written into our contracts that upon the loan going default, payments must be made to Loviatar. We are essentially recruiters.” The party took a moment to sink that in. These were people who made others join the cause of an evil goddess if they did not have the funds to survive. It was hard for most of them to wrap their heads around it. Except for Pumpeck. Being taught about the atrocities of Loviatar made it all too easy to believe that this was another one of her schemes. She would not, could not allow it to continue. “Interesting.” She said. “I’m sorry, could you tell me where the restrooms are located?” “Of course.” Said Argus, relaying the directions to the restroom. Pumpeck smiled and said “Thank you. Niama, Nariel, care to join me? You know how I am with directions, I’ll probably get lost.” Niama and Nariel looked at each other with a confused look. Niama looked to Pumpeck and said “Sure.” The three of them left the dining room and entered the hallway. Pumpeck dropped her smile and focused her own divine sense to sense what Veldora had felt. She moved with intent down the hallway, not going the way Argus had said to go for restrooms. “Where are you going?” asked Nariel. “To smite evil.” Pumpeck said. She continued down the hallway, tailed by Niama and Nariel, eventually making her way to a library. She looked around and said. “We can get downstairs from here. Somehow.” The three started searching for the usual hidden pathway devices. A book out of place. A crooked candle holder. Anything that seemed unusual. Niama walked to the lit fireplace and tested the bricks. She found a loose brick on one side and found that it could be pushed in an inch before making a click sound. Nothing happened. She kept it held in and told Nariel to search the other side of the fire for a similar one. Within a few seconds, Nariel found the loose stone and pushed it until it clicked. At that moment, the fireplace dimmed until the fire went out, and the ground shifted to the side, revealing a stone stairway. They looked down and before a discussion could be had, Pumpeck began to trudge down the stairs. Nariel and Niama chased after her until they reached a metal door. From the other side, they could hear the sounds of chains rattling and screams of agony. A faint chanting could be heard, but only understood by Niama, who understood the demonic tongue. The chants were prayers to Loviatar. Pumpeck made a move to open the door and Niama grabbed her hand. “Look,” said Niama. “I understand that this goddess and her followers are supposed to be your mortal enemies, or whatever. But, now is not the time. We cannot fight demons and win. We need to notate this, put it in the mental bank, and get back to dinner so we don’t risk pissing off the devil worshipper.” Pumpeck sighed. “I cannot allow this evil to exist.” “And we will defeat it. Eventually. But not here, not now.” Pumpeck held eye contact during a pregnant pause. “Fine.” She said eventually. They ran back up the stairs and returned to the dining room. Fortunately, no one thought that the time that they were away was suspicious and dinner continued normally. It had seemed that little conversation had happened since the discover of the family’s loyalty to Loviatar. In the silence, Niama had a burning question that she could not put to rest. She looked to Argus and asked, “Since you know of Loviatar and her symbol. Would you be able to look at my bow?” Argus stood and walked over to her and held the bow she handed to him. He scanned it over and saw that the symbol of Loviatar was etched into the wood above the handle. He hummed lightly to himself as his eyes squinted in contemplation. “This,” he finally said. “does remind me of a story.” He handed the bow back to her and returned to his seat. “There is a saying that a herald of Loviatar will arrive to reap the souls of the living. You see, in Avernus, they use souls for currency. The herald will use the bow gifted to them to harvest souls to provide wealth to Loviatar in her realm.” “And you think I have that bow?” “Oh, certainly not. The bow of Loviatar is said to be far more intricate than that. Tipped with horns and embedded with emeralds. Just having her symbol does not make it her bow.” It put Niama’s mind at ease to find out she had little to worry about. But that didn’t help her relax about the fact that her birth mark was the same as the symbol. She decided that was ultimately a question she was not ready to confront. Dinner continued as normal and eventually dessert was served. No further discussions were had. After dessert was finished, Argus looked to the party and said, “How would you all like a tour?” Niama and Nariel’s eyes widened slightly, afraid they left behind any traces that they had been snooping. Thorfreyer, Rum, and Veldora not knowing that the women went snooping agreed to the tour. Recela excused herself, saying that she was ready to retire for the night and wished to do some reading before bed in the study. Argus led them through the halls and were making their way directly to the library. Niama leaned over Nariel and whispered, “Did we close the entrance to the basement?” “No.” Said Nariel. “Are we about to die?” “Probably.” Argus opened the door to the library and led the party inside. Gesturing to the tall shelves lining the walls filled with books. He swung his arms in a wide gesture. As he spun, he saw that the fireplace no longer had a fire in it, and the stairway was fully exposed. He ran to it and pushed the loose bricks which returned to their original position. He turned back to the party, his face red and contorted in rage. “I invite you to my home to thank you for saving me. And you snoop around my home in return. Sneak around without permission? What is wrong with you?” Pumpeck stepped forward. “The true question is what’s wrong with you. One who worships pain.” “Pain is necessary. Suffering is required. Without it, none would know joy.” “Bull.” Said Pumpeck, drawing her sword. The rest of the party didn’t want to get involved in a religious feud, but they had to back their teammate. They drew their weapons as well. Argus cocked his head and snapped his fingers. In an eruption of three plumes of green flame, three barbed devils manifested. Green scaly devils covered in spikes. Argus said, “I give you a choice. Stay and die or leave and never come back. I do want you to know that if I were not indebted to you, you would already be dead for what you’ve done.” It did not take long for the party to realize they were woefully outmatched and ran from the mansion as quickly as they could. True to his word, Argus made no move to attack them as they ran. Running to the entrance of the building, they saw Sebastian waiting at the door, he opened it and gave them a subtle bow as they bolted from the estate. Night had now fallen on Waterdeep and despite their fear, they slowed down and walked the rest of the way home, hoping to not cause unwanted attention or suspicion. They returned to the tavern and ran downstairs. “Argibold, we have a problem.” Yelled Niama. Argibold was sifting through pages and books. He lifted his head and turned to the party. “What’s up?” Niama relayed the events of the evening to Argibold who listened without interrupting. Once Niama was finished, he gave a single nod and said, “Well, freedom of religion, they can worship whoever they want. Seems like they only bring in people who sign their contracts, so it’s completely legal. And we seem to be at a point where as long as we don’t bother them, they won’t bother us. I don’t see any problems.” The party realized they wouldn’t get anywhere with Argibold. Realizing they could not do anything, they did the only thing they could. They packed it in for the night and went to sleep. Argibold was right, The Baramore’s would more than likely leave them alone as long as they didn’t do anything. But they also knew Pumpeck would more than likely not let this go easily. As long as there were those who would cause pain and suffering, she could never rest easy. She would let it go for now, but she knew one day, she needed to return to the Baramore estate, and end their evil business.