Perhaps it was a sense of loneliness that drove the Harper towards the Academy's horse stables in the north west corner of the Academy, seeking an old friend. True, Bartholomew was just a horse, and not even a good one, but he had spirit that never failed to intrigue the Doctor. Whatever it was that made Bartholomew special, he was a damn fine warhorse.

Upon opening the doors to the stall he was greeted by a mean-tempered black stallion that pushed Pierce backwards. It took several large steps forward with prancing hoofs, forcing the man to dodge or get pinned under the foot of a two thousand pound warhorse.

Bartholomew snorted and looked down at Pierce with what looked like a scowl. He scratched the floor with a horseshoe.

The Doctor scowled in return and got to his feet slowly. "I see you're just as charming as always," he mocked with a seemingly polite smile. The problem with horses, and all animals it seemed, was that Pierce couldn't delve into their minds. They were blank, hidden from his prying mind. He couldn't fathom what Bartholomew thought of him, for it was both a love and hate relationship. The horse respected him for his skill and control, yet hated him for the same reason.

"Okay Bart," Pierce said with a grunt as he mounted the horse bareback, his preferred riding style, especially when Bartholomew hated the bulky saddle and tended to be even more tempersome than normal. "Lets go see Nicole." He clicked his tongue and tapped the horse's flanks with his boots.

Bartholomew, as well trained as he was huge, started off at a gallop. Today he was happy to be out and about once more and it was undoubtable that the stallion was feeling invigorated despite the chill autumn wind.

A throne of white marble sat admidst the weavings of shadowy webs that glistened in the pale light that permeated from the gloomy surroundings without a source of name. The throne itself changed colour constantly, its white marble changing to black in an ever churning cycle of corruption.

The robust figure of a grey skinned half-elf, or rather a half-drow, sat upon it. He was both tall and broad shouldered, an unusual trait for any half-elf, and he sat in a slumped position that was both lewd yet graceful.

Here sat the god of corruption, known only to his benefactors as Korehren. For one to assume that this avatar was everything that was the god, they were naive indeed. The figure that lay so limply upon the throne and stared into the gloom was but a facet of a greater thing, for one could not call it a creature in any way or form, that spread itself across the universe and planes in a multitude of forms.

He was within the heart of every man, woman and child, tempting the minds of the weak with the desires he forged in order to corrupt their wills until they were solely under his control. The question many theologists asked was, where did Korehren come from? Had he always been there? Or had he been willed into form by another, more powerful being? Ao, the overlord of the gods perhaps?

Of course, another theory was that he was actually the bastard son of Cyric and Lloth and was relatively young in the ways of gods, yet certainly had a knack for it. It didn't really matter what such theologists thought, not to Korehren at least. His faceted attention was more focused on the doings of the kind of warrior the realms had not seen in over a hundred and fifty years.

The image within Korehren's mind was not vague and neither was it a single perspective. He saw everything about Chev, from every possible angle, with detail that was unfathomable. This depth of vision was beyond mortal comprehension and only a god, or at the very least a demi-god, could accomplish it.

It did have its rewards however. Korehren knew everything that Chev could accomplish physically, something the warrior didn't even know, and was very impressed by the mortal's level of physical perfection. The problem however was that Chev now stood in what remained of the Bravepike Manor.

Which was little more than a cinder after Chev had burnt it to the ground. The feat of one man, against a small army of warriors, was incredible, indeed, well nigh impossible. Yet, even the impossible was a goal that could be reached, and Korehren decided that he saw a very simple goal before him.

It was just a question of motivating Chev into action.

The thundering of hooves and the power one felt when a mount made an incredible jump was something all experienced riders knew was something remarkable, yet so very confusing. To Nicole, it was like being given a moment of glory as she soared off the ground, and then the moment was over even before the horse's hooves hit the dirt once more on the other side of the fence.

She turned the horse expertly and reined it in for a quick stop as she looked back towards the fence. Giving into temptation, she dug her heels into the stallion's flanks and drove it towards the fence once more. The huge white creature seemed to lurch and then soar as it went over the fence, and once more, Nicole felt that moment of glory.

She wanted to keep going, keep jumping, as if the constant jumping would make the horse so great that it might sprout wings and fly. Yet, with the days getting longer, and the sun getting lower over her gloomy estate, she knew it was time to head for the stables. Hopefully it wouldn't start snowing for awhile, as she knew the weather always put a damper on her equestrian skills until spring.

The stallion snorted and pulled up of its own accord, taking a quick step backwards. Clinging to the reins, Nicole looked past the horse's head to the shadowy figure riding towards them across the park-like surroundings of her estate. It wasn't until she caught a glimpse of the rider and saw the gleam of the tell-tale bronze armour that she realized who it was, and was only too happy to dismount in order to formally greet her guest.

"G'day Pierce. What brings you to my humble estate?" she bowed low as his horse slowed, deliberately so and watched him blush and look away from her corset.

"Although uninvited, I was wondering if I might join you for dinner." Pierce dismounted and ignored Bartholomew's stomping hooves and vicious snort. "Its been awhile since I've seen you."

"Agreed." She smiled. "You've saved me from another boring meal with courtiers and relatives I don't even know."

Bartholomew pawed the ground and Nicole's stallion backed away and kept its distance. Why Bartholomew was being so hostile was beyond Pierce, but he paid the horse only scant attention as he took Nicole's arm in his and headed towards the manor.

"Well, ye certainly look lost!" cackled a deep voice.

Chev leapt to his feet, longsword posed at the shadows surrounding his timy campfire in the midst of the burnt out castle. Nothing should have been able to sneak up on him. He blinked his eyes, recalling that he had been quite content staring into the fire and listening to its crackle. Perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to sneak up on him afterall.

The figure of a farmer bearing a pitchfork came to the edge of the fire's light and levelled the fork at Chev. "Be ye friend or foe?"

The warrior sheathed his blade and sat back down, allowing himself a quick smile. "Neither, for I hardly know you," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the farmer.

The farmer cackled and came closer, revealing his face in detail. He was moderately handsome, despite several days worth of beard and an overly large nose. Tall and lean, the peasant walked past the warrior with a firmness that unnerved Chev.

"Wall, lets see 'ere!" said the farmer, planting his fork in the ground beside him as he sat down across from Chev. He inspected the spit of roasting meat that lay across the fire. "Smells like duck! May I?"

"Help yourself old boy," Chev replied, again with a smile as he regarded this somewhat charming farmer.

The farmer promptly drew a rusty knife from his belt and carved off a chunk of meat which he ate with his bare hands. "Ye certainly are hospitable to a complete stranger! Most strangers around here get snarly and act like they know everything. It comes from living so close to the Sea Caves. The influence of the damned drow in there bring out the worst in people!" he said after several bites. "Ye got a name?"

"Chev."

"Chev! Why I reckon I know that name!" the farmer exclaimed and for a moment Chev was afraid he'd have to kill this charming fellow, but the farmer sat deep in thought as if trying to recall some long lost memory.

"Chev," the farmer muttered to himself. "Wasn't that the name of a fighter around 'ere parts?"

The warrior smiled and decided to play along with the farmer. "I was named after him."

"A good name it is too!" the farmer declared. He pointed his finger around the manor. "Belonged to a mighty warrior! He single handedly took down this 'ere fortress many years ago! Before even my grandfather's time if I reckon rightly!"

"I take it you saw the flames, as I did, and investigated?" Chev asked quickly.

"Aye! This ol' place has been wanting to burn down for years ye know! It's a shame I didn't notice it when I was slaughtering chickens for the winter or else I would've been here sooner to watch the sucker burn!" He cackled and took a huge bite out of the duck meat.

"What about the d'Or family? What do you know about them?"

"Now that's a bit redundant!" cackled the farmer and explained. "That 'D' in front of Or stands for 'the'. When was the last time ye heard anyone say 'the the'? With the exception of someone who stutters constantly, these dorks are the only time I hear it!"

Chev laughed, genuinely, for the first time in what seemed like a long time. "You certainly are knowledgeble for a peasant! Were you a sage in your last life?"

The farmer seemed flustered suddenly. "No, I jist like me history thats all! Don't go putting no scholarly cap on me, ye hear? I've got no plans on becoming one of those city slicker wussy boys!"

Again Chev laughed and reached into his pack for a wineskin which he tossed to the farmer. "I have no intention of ruining your reputation. Have a drink and maybe share some of your knowledge with me. I'd like to know more about my namesake!"

The farmer grinned and downed some of the wine greedily. He smiled even wider when he set it down.

On a myriad avatars, all spawned by the god of corruption, a wide smile formed. My, how easy it is to manipulate mortals sometimes, they laughed inwardly with one unified thought. Sometimes too easy.

The meal was exquisitely delicious, but if asked what it had been, neither Nicole or Pierce could remember what it was. The Doctor couldn't have cared if the chef had slaughtered Bartholomew, stirred him up in a frying pan and fed them the horse. He was far too absorbed with talking with the woman across from him to notice.

It wasn't until Pierce sighed and started to bite down on his empty fork that he realized the food had long since disappeared. He stared at the fork for a moment as a sudden thought came to him. "What time is it?"

Nicole glanced at the Shou clock in the corner. "Eleven twenty," she whispered, also realizing that the servants had long since went to their chambers for sleep.

Pierce frowned sternly. "The night is still young and I am still hungry, what say you?"

"Would you like me to wake the chef?"

"No. Not necessary. I was thinking more along the lines of going out to a place I know."

Walking the streets of Waterdeep at night could be hazardous, yet Nicole didn't doubt Pierce's ability to protect her. Indeed, she couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather have as a bodyguard, not counting gods of course. And even then, they'd be running a close second.

At first she thought they were going to the Yawning Portal, but when Pierce strode past that without even a glance at its rowdy crowd Nicole began to wonder just where he was intending. Off to the side of the street, he led her down a series of cobbled steps to a large oaken door. The inscription carved into door read "The Spitfire Saloon".

Opening the door, Pierce escorted Nicole into what looked like a foyer. The walls and floor were panelled with black walnut and the ceiling was lit with a mobile with pieces of quartz suspended from it. Each piece of quartz was enchanted with a light spell and the resulting lights reflecting off the dark walls and floor.

The moment Pierce stepped within the building his foresight and mind delving abilities went silent, for which he was thankful, knowing that the multitude of thoughts he would come across in the room beyond would give him a headache.

A single guard stood in the room with a drawn sword. His armour and race was hidden by a long cloak and a cowled hood. "Good evening Doctor Pierce," the guard said flatly. "Who is your guest?"

"This is Lady Nicole of Waterdeep. She is native to the world Toril."

"Have a good evening." The guard moved aside in a graceful movement that made it look like he flowed more than walked.

Pierce led her into the dimly lit room through the swaying batwing doors with his right hand holding hers and his left arm around her back. "You may have heard rumours of the Yawning Portal containing an entrance to Undermountain, but what you don't know is that this place has a much greater reason for secrecy: It has an entrance to the planes."

She almost knew it was coming but wasn't sure what to think. Her knowledge of magic was limited to the magical pranks nobles sometimes played at parties and social gatherings. Beyond that, it had an air of utter mystery that she simply could not comprehend, but the planes? Worlds beyond her own where she could freely travel to with only a hop and a skip? That was beyond all of her dreams. She preferred more solid, less fanciful things. It was obvious to her that Pierce was trying to impress her and was succeeding.

Sensing her anxiety, Pierce continued to talk. "The people in this place are unlike any others you will see in Waterdeep, or the rest of the realms for that matter. It is also one of the few places where they can meet freely without violence."

"What about the guard at the door? If they don't have fights in here, why the guard?"

"This room is extradimensional. In reality, it does not actually exist. It is made up of illusion and held together by magic. The moment we stepped through that oak door back there, we were no longer in Waterdeep but in a place created entirely of magic and imagination. The problem with extradimensional magic, is that you can't have an extradimensional object within an extradimensional object. You follow?"

"I know about bags of holding and portable holes if that is what mean. If the two are put together, they'll cause a planar rift like that accident at Hariko Barkeb's party last year."

"Ah, yes! The mage tried to steal a bowl of everfull punch by sticking it in his magical pocket. A rookie mistake for a mage. He got sucked into another plane along with a good chunk of the silverware!"

"So the guard at the door is there to determine whether we're carrying any extradimensional devices?"

"Yep. His sword is enchanted to glow when it senses one other than the one we're standing in," Pierce replied as he helped her into a dark booth and then sat down across from her. He snapped a finger and the raspberry scented candle on the table lit with a purple flame.

Nicole shrugged and finally got a chance to look around the dark room. "How do these people see? Infravision? Like elves?"

"Yes, again. Ninety percent of them probably can see in the dark and the other ten have magic that lets them. The problem with infravision is that its heat sensitive and that doesn't help with reading a menu, thus the candles."

She nodded slowly. "Magical candles that light when you snap your fingers. This place must be terrible expensive."

"No and yes. The candles aren't magical but the cost of having food from almost every known plane is very expensive. The advantage with the planes however is that these people tend to have a lot of gold and other valuables."

"Okay then how did you light the candle?"

"A cantrip spell. A minor spell taught to apprentises. The only magic I know I'm afraid, and thus I don't flaunt it much." The Doctor pulled a menu from a cubbyhole in the wall and opened it between them. "What would you like? Remember that this place also tends to be spicy."

Nicole glanced down the long list of things like curried landshark, cream of osquip soup, poached dragon egg. "Um," she said aloud as she continued down the list. "Isn't there anything from Toril that's kinda, you know, normal?" She glanced up, her eyes catching his and holding them.

Pierce swallowed. "Well, there's lifesyrup, which tastes identical to maplesyrup. Marque Draque makes it with a little help from my father. I think the screech soaked cod comes from Luskan north of Waterdeep but I've never tried it. They all taste wonderful, I'm sure."

"Well, since I've never been to Luskan, or any of these other places for that matter, I'll try the cod."

If Pierce had known that Screech was actually a drink with a lot of alcohol in it he would have persuaded her to take a different meal, but he considered the experience something to remember and would never make the same mistake twice. The opposite side of the coin was that he got to carry her up the steep stairs for she was too weak in the knees to make it. He just hoped his back could make it.

Setting her down at the top, he helped her along with one arm around her back and supporting her as they made their way down the torch lit streets, scouring it for a carriage taxi. When none could be found, he cursed himself inwardly for not bringing Bartholomew, but again knew that everything had been worth it. He hated the horse anyway half the time. It would never have stayed in the stables down the street and would have wandered across half the city.

The cold autumn air was doing its part in sobering Nicole as they wandered the streets in the general direction of her estate. She enjoyed the cool breeze contrasting with the warmth of Pierce's body. Even his bronze armour was warm to the touch, but she wondered if that was the Screech in her blood talking.

"This town house belongs to Martinez," he said abruptly as they neared the poor building. "He's a Harper comrade of mine. If you ever meet him, you'll know him by the longflail he always carries."

Nicole nodded and looked towards the house which looked like it needed to be boarded up and condemned. When she looked up at his shadowed face again however, his eyes were distant and alert. The street seemed awfully quiet now. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hopefully," the warrior lied easily, trying to keep her hopes up. Up ahead he knew that three young thugs lay in the darkness of the alley, deeply immersed in the merchant that had ambushed by surprise and dragged into the alley to be beaten senseless. Then they stopped at the sound of approaching feet.

Pushing Nicole into a doorway, he threw his cloak overtop of her. "Stay here and be quiet." On a sudden impulse he took off his sword belt and handed it to her.

The footsteps resumed and the thugs edged closer to the corner, listening carefully for the intruder. The leader, a tall half-elf, knelt within the entrance, ready to leap.

"Greets man," Pierce drawled in a slang tongue he hadn't used since his childhood during his own youth on the street. "Wutcha upto?"

The thugs relaxed and the half-elf stood out in the open. "Nuttin'. Jist sum spare change. Got we a fat merch!" he said loudly, to which his two comrades went "Sssssh."

"Ye're purty lucky dat Harper didn't hear ye, wut wit alda racket!" Pierce whispered in response.

Wut Harper?" demanded one of the thugs in the back.

Pierce hoped the alcohol in his own blood wouldn't slow him down as he tapped on the building they were standing beside. "Da one dat lives in here, course!" he hissed. "Course, 'e's also a drunk, but dats besides the point. Martinez is still a fighter extraordinare!"

The half-elf narrowed his eyes. Pierce had slipped into the common tongue to use the latter word and now the leader had consciously changed his elven eyesight from infravision to light sensing, and thus was able to see the glint off the warrior's bronze armour.

"Pierce!" the rogue cried out and backed away in a hurry. His fellow thugs tumbled into the street and regarded the founder of the Academy of Combat with both fear and awe.

"He's not wearing his blades," muttered one of them, thanking the god Mask for his luck. With an unspoken agreement, the three thugs moved in closer, hoping tom surround the warrior.

But the god of deception wasn't about to help a trio of blundering thugs as it would take nothing short of a miracle sent from the heavens to save them now. A lightening bolt for example, but the sky was clear and the god wasn't going to waste the energy or effort in summoning up some clouds, and thus angering some other gods who disliked the world's natural order being played with. Especially not for three thugs who should've known better.

Thus when Pierce stepped forward and gave the first thug a few practice kicks, trying to recall his knowledge of kickboxing, he really had nothing stopping him from continuing to kick the boy, and he was scarcely more than a boy, to death. After the kid was down, he was tempted to continue and vent his rage on the kid everytime he moved. Thankfully his conscience stepped in, and Pierce backed away from the boy.

The other two thugs had disappeared but that wasn't what concerned the man that fell to the cobbles now, a sob racking his lungs. "I could have killed him," he whispered aloud, and he knew this to be the truth, for his farsight indeed said it had been a huge possibility.

Pushing the tears away from his eyes with the back of his hand, Pierce knelt over the injured boy who shied away in fear. "I'm not going to hurt you," the Doctor said slowly. He ripped the arm off his sleeve and inspected the boy's wounds.

They totalled, as the price for Pierce's anger, four broken ribs, one broken leg, a twisted wrist and a bloody lump for a shoulder. It was that shoulder most of all that concerned the Doctor as he bound it tightly to stop the bleeding. If he had any of his healing poultices, he would have used those to clean the wound but one couldn't foresee everything.

At his side, he knew there was Martinez and Nicole, both of which were unsure of what to do but both wanting to do something. It was amazing that the bald Harper was sober enough to have heard the fight at this time of night. Lifting the boy slightly, they lay him down on Pierce's cloak and used it as a makeshift stretcher as they carried him inside of Martinez's townhouse.

Nicole blanched when she saw the interior of the Harper's house, covered with scrolls, old liquor bottles and a basic array of junk. Where there should have been walls, there was only space as the walls had either rotted down years ago or Martinez had simply removed them. Only the staircase, a few supports and a large iron pole coming through the ceiling showed any sign that the place wouldn't collapse any second.

The fat rats scurried into the darkness as they entered, retreating into a corner that appeared to be a kitchen turned carpentry shop judging from all the wood shavings and carvings. No doubt, Nicole thought with an inner laugh, that Martinez had to be at least somewhat good at carpentry to keep this place from becoming condemned.

Up the stairs they went, past a shelf stacked with rows upon rows of Martinez's bottle collection, all empty of course. They foraged through the filth, trying to reach a hammock in the corner. They paused by the iron pole, making sure to keep their footing so near to such a drop. Finally, the trio lay the boy down in a hammock.

Looking over the boy carefully, Pierce noted that he had long ago fallen unconscious but would soon awake in a lot of pain. "What do you have for healing potions?"

"Just my own special brew," Martinez replied and handed Pierce a bottle filled with a yellow liquid. "And if that doesn't ease the pain, there's a bottle of drow vodka at your feet that should go down well." The bald Harper smiled and winked at Nicole. "I'll be back with a cleric of healing!" he said as he wrapped his legs around the iron pole and slipped through the hole in the floor to the filth below.

Pierce forced the boy to drink as much of the potion he could get down and ignored Martinez's offer of vodka. He was almost tempted to lift the bottle to his own lips, but the gods knew he felt awful enough already. Instead he slumped down beside Nicole on a clean patch of floor.

"How you feeling?" he asked, sensing her thoughts to be in a similar state of haze.

"Awful yet kinda giddy," Nicole replied and leaned on him gently. "I'm going to have the biggest hangover in the morning," she mumbled as she fell asleep.

Pierce sat alone with his thoughts as he waited for the return of Martinez. There were times he envied the rarely sober fighter. He was a good man, who led a simple uncomplicated life from Pierce's perspective. He certainly didn't let his anger get in the way when scaring off some thugs.

Darkness seeped away from the City of Splendours, leaving behind the golden wake of the sun as it poured down its light from the heavens. In the Academy, Rambertz gave thanks to the Morninglord and assumed the form of a gold falcon as he soared up above the city and was absorbed into the feeling of freedom he felt under the sun's rays.

Elsewhere in the city, a man named Belchamp Dumont sat up in an alley and looked around. He was thankful to be alive, but the thing he was more thankful for, and even more perplexed by, was the fact that he still had all his jewelry and coin pouch. Surely, the thugs last night hadn't done this for sport?

"Wake up beautiful," Martinez shouted and waved a cup of coffee under Nicole's nose. "The pigs and roosters are up and so should you be!"

The lady rolled over in the filth and covered her ears with her hands.

"Well, that settles it. She's hungover," the Harper said with a grin and downed the coffee for himself. "No need to waste good beans!"

Pierce glared up at the Harper, once again remembering that he rarely counted Martinez among his friends. "Could you be a little more discreet? Surely you've had your share of hangovers?"

The bald man frowned and nodded. "Aye, but I haven't had one in about five years, which tells you the last time when I was sober."

"Sober?" mumbled Nicole with a self-mocking giggle. "What is 'sober'? I didn't know there was such a word!"

The half-elf boy on the hammock groaned and tried to roll over but Martinez caught him before he rolled clear out of the hammock. "The cleric fixed most of his injuries while you were asleep but the boy still won't be able to walk for at least two weeks," the Harper said matter-of-factly.

Pierce nodded and swallowed. "I'll give him a room at the Academy."

"Well what if he has parents? They're not all orphans you know."

Pierce shook his head. "Nope, this one is an orphan."

"How do you know?"

Pierce swore inwardly and hated himself for not paying more attention in the early hours. His mind was still in a daze from the night before. "A hunch. Sort of like how a mother has hunches that an unborn child will be a girl or boy."

Martinez shrugged and changed the subject. "Still nothing new from Durnan. Everything is annoyingly quiet and he says that it means something is up. No doubt all of our enemies are going to do something at roughly the same time and the end result will be a dragon's worth of chaos."

"A dragon can mix up a lot of chaos," nodded Pierce. "Lets hope it doesn't blow up like some gnomish experiment."