"Only one man could have pulled off the stunt of kidnapping d'Or's daughter Kipriana. A Harper called Rewt Nachent-"

Chev interrupted the farmer by nicking his neck with a levelled sword. "A Harper? Why did the Harpers help the Bravepikes?"

The farmer swallowed slowly, the lump in his throat brushing the tip of Chev's sharp blade. "Well, as you may have heard, their family was really into smuggling things under the cover of rug merchants-"

"And wine, armour, weapons, slaves. Get to the point!"

The farmer was sweating now. "The Harpers were against their slave dealing and had no qualms about allying themselves with the Bravepikes."

Chev sheathed his sword again. "Sorry about that. Please continue."

The old farmer nodded thankfully and resumed his story that had last most of the night and into the morning. His knowledge was incredible, despite his tendency to ramble and go into detail about nitty gritty things that Chev didn't care about. Still, the old fellow had an unexplainable charm about him.

Now however, as the man rambled on, Chev sat quietly, deep in thought. The Harpers were the real reason he had been trapped in that accursed statue! Even more importantly, they had separated him from Kipriana d'Or, the only person he had ever loved. The thought tore at his soul like a barbed dagger.

"Old boy," the warrior interrupted as he stood and stretched. "It's good to have met you! It seems like a long time, a very long time, since I last enjoyed such a conversation!"

"Leaving so soon?" asked the farmer, standing and starting to hand back the nearly empty wineskin.

"Keep it friend. Have a good day!"

Marque Draque pored over his necromancy notes, checking one last thing before he cast the intended dweomer. Standing up from his stool, he walked past the fire faerie to where Gravebringer lay. "Light please," he muttered.

The fire faerie flew up and fluttered beside the mage's shoulder, shedding light over the stone-walled laboratory.

Draque nodded and sprinkled black diamond dust over the broken parts of the blade. Touching the two halves, he moved them slowly together while speaking the arcane words that would have seemed gibberish to any other.

With a plume of white smoke, the two pieces fused together.

Blinking his eyes against the smoke, Draque looked down at the flawless blade. One could swear that it had never been broken in the first place. "The question," the elf said to himself, as was his habit. "Is whether the magic fused properly?"

Removing a glass lens from its case on the shelf, Draque cast a spell that allowed him to literally see the magic that flowed around and within an object. For over a hour he inspected every magical detail of the blade, determining that only a minor magical power that allowed the sword to regenerate its bearer no longer functioned at all.

"No wonder Chev could take on a whole castle without much risk," the mage said at length, sitting down on his stool and relaxing. He had toiled throughout last night and well into this morning and the lack of rest was showing on his drooping eyelids. He let out a lengthy yawn.

"Tomorrow," he said, looking at the blade. "I will tear those enchantments off you and put them to good use. No point in letting an evil spell live." He chuckled as the blade glowed an angry red in a futile attempt to scare the elf. "I don't want to know what its like to be a blade like yourself, with thoughts that are so instinctive they go beyond the normal boundaries of evil."

The Gravebringer seethed with magical fire but could do nothing.

The mage gave it a wry grin. "I would have made a better poet, don't you think?" He sighed and sat down in his overstuffed chair and picked up a poetry book to help him fall asleep.

Valeska Ko'Ragur's poetry had long been something Marque Draque admired, but that fact he kept to himself, using spells that prevented even Pierce from finding out what he really thought about the drow bard.

Sun Slave

The sun is a burning, aching sphere.
It burns my eyes and dries out my hair.
My skin scalds red under its sheering yellow.
My mind aches and blood wants to overflow.
It has it in for me.
A hatred any blind man can see.
It tortures me continuously.
Whipping my torso mercilessly.
For long hours I toil under it.
I don't care for the sun one bit.

Draque agreed with only part of this poem and he turned the page quickly to the next. He had always found the sun to be a very powerful source of magical energy and had used that power to create his lifesyrup. Which in turn had made him a lot of gold in the past because of the syrup's healing properties.

Valeska Ko'Ragur's Return

The darkness is endless
The time clock swings on
And myself the drow bard
Am chaos' pawn

The caverns are aging
The shadows turn grey
The goddess goes on killing
Keeping me away

My lifeblood is fading
An arrow that dies
Even before the shooting
Before my own eyes

Lloth's grim hold is fragile
A web catching flame
Hark! I return from exile
To use deadly aim

The darkness has faded
The slaughter is here
The chaos is unleashed
We all smell Lloth's fear

Draque couldn't help but wonder if Lloth truly feared a rebellion among her worshipers. It seemed too far fetched. Still, the drow mage had to give Valeska credit for trying.

Lloth's Lost Gem

Kendrick Leopold,
A drow known for being bold,
Stood up to the Matron Mothers,
Ran past poisoned daggers.
His fight ended with great chaos.
Everything lost in the cavern's moss.
No one knew where he had went.
He and his clan was Lloth's vent.
Her anger released, she was blinded,
For the Leopolds, had fled unscathed.
Above on an island,
Beyond Lloth's reaching hand,
Is the isle of Dragonspade,
Laughing at Lloth's attempts to raid.
She can't even find them.
Dragonspade, the Lost Gem.

This myth had always intrigued Draque. He had asked conjured demons about the existence of Dragonspade last year and gotten the vague answer: "The home of Luzinarth? Nay, the great dragon lies dead and so does his isle." Draque had pursued that topic but the demon had refused to answer any more questions, claiming ignorance of the issue.

Lloth's Toys

In the beginning, Lloth was a foundling.
By elves she was raised, and widely appraised.
But not for her deeds, but her killing needs.
Chaos was her weapon, filled with poison.
There is no foundation for her desire,
Only an evil core filled with black fire.
I am but one drow who ignores her flame,
Watching as she plays out her ruthless game.
We are but toys to our wretched goddess.
But even we toys are far from helpless.
We have great might and far greater power.
Enough to make even dark Lloth cower.
I gather my forces for my great strike,
To stick Lloth's head on the end of a pike.

Draque laughed inwardly at the last idea. He was still chortling when he drifted off into the meditative trance all elves call sleep.

"Where in Ao's hair is Marque Draque?" demanded Pierce, his patience at a loss since his foresight wasn't helping.

Hiram snorted and sat down across from the Doctor in the bustling cafeteria. "If he's in Ao's hair, I'd wager he's lost! Last I heard however he was quite busy in his laboratory working on that damned sword-"

Pierce had been ready to collapse into his seat and enjoy a leisurely meal with his father but instead he leapt up from the table, vaulted a table to the stunned faces of his students (who never in their lives could have guessed that a two hundred pound man weighed down with over 80 pounds of armour and weapons could have vaulted a table so easily), and ran out the doors to the south wing.

Hiram closed his jaw and scratched what little hair he had atop his shaved head. Things like this seemed to be getting quite ordinary, as far as the old boxer was concerned, but he smiled ruefully. "At least things never get boring!"

He promptly ate Pierce's pork chops.

The door slammed down under the weight of Pierce's boot and he stepped inside the now dusty room. Blinking his eyes and coughing, he realized it would have been much simpler to have just turned the knob. Perhaps it was the back of brain that had planted the idea to knock the door down. He had never liked that door anyway.

The fire faerie in its alcove to the side of the door hopped to attention, ignoring its daily meal of wax. The faerie's presence alone was reassuring for it was bonded with the mage and could never go very far from Draque. Flexing wings of blue flame, it looked up at Pierce expectantly.

"Where is Marque Draque?"

The fire faerie flashed brightly like a fire fly and dashed across the musty chamber to one of many doors bearing runes that were no doubt magical. It flew right into the lock and played with mechanism, opening it with an loud click.

The Doctor still wasn't ready to even touch the door, but he foretold no danger despite his fears and opened it hesitantly.

The loud snores relaxed the warrior more than words could tell, but in the next millisecond his defenses were back on overdrive. The pervading sense of evil emanating from the room not only became an almost tangible substance, but reached into Pierce's mind like a set of sharp daggers.

Instinctually reaching for Sidekick, Pierce entered the room and at the same time forced his thoughts to the words of a riddle, the idea springing from the open poetry book on Draque's lap:

	The drow on the bow seeks no hardship
	She lives her life with power and whip
	Carrying chaos she imposes on slaves
	Leaving behind nothing but shallow graves
	Life is but a game for our dread goddess
	Can you guess the goal within her bodice?

Those words, written by the drow bard Valeska Ko'Ragur, had haunted Pierce for years with their constant references. He had always liked her poetry but didn't tell Draque that. It occurred to him then that Draque also must have hidden his own preference for Valeska's poetry from him somehow. Annoyed by that fact and overwhelmed by fear of the sword, he grabbed the slumbering elf by the collar and hauled him out of the room.

Draque choked out a curse as he awoke in mid-drag and pulled himself to his feet. "What's wrong? Is the place burning down?"

"No! I-" Pierce stopped and slammed the door shut to block the invading evil mind. "What is that thing in there?" he demanded.

"Chev's sword? I fixed it," Draque crossed his arms and levelled his eyes at Pierce like a stern father. "Explain."

Taking a breath, Pierce pulled up a stool. "I've been looking for you all morning and then when my father said you were working on that sword-"

"And your foresight told you something?"

"Well, no-"

"Then it was your imagination running off on the loose. Even you can't get through the protections on that door-" Draque stopped abruptly in his speech and looked at the open door in awe. "How in Mystra did you open that door?"

Pierce pointed to the fire faerie.

"Oh, of course! It figures that the little bugger would retain that knowledge! Probably can pick a lock better than I can! Anyway, as I was saying! That door, and the chamber itself bears the first copy of my Insignia of Protection. Nothing short of a god could get through it without knowing how." The elf paused to glare at the fire faerie who had flown back to its alcove to eat more wax.

"Its a good thing I can read your mind then," the Doctor replied. "Now I'll be able to bypass the Insignia, although I'll need one of your magical scrolls just to be able to cast that spell."

"No doubt," Draque snorted. "You're one of the few fighters who will ever learn even a smidging of magic and that makes you blessed in a very small way. If I ever tweaked your power, I'd say you'd have the magical might to cast a fireball if only you knew how."

"I have watched you a fair bit and my foresight helps!"

"Ah, but you still don't understand fully! When I first taught you how to light a candle, you lit the candlestick and we ended up with the tablecloth starting on fire!"

Pierce stood and clapped his friend on the back. "Which reminds me! I'm famished and after toiling away on that stupid blade you should be hungry too!"

Draque nodded and motioned the fire faerie to lock the door behind them. "I'm going to have to teach the little fellow more respect. Maybe if I stop buying such expensive waxes for him to eat he'll get the hint."

"I doubt that. If he's like his creator, which he's supposed to be, he'll probably rebel and eat the wax off your scroll seals and then you'll have a problem identifying them all. Best not to anger him, but simply motivate him." The fighter smiled lewdly. "Maybe you should get a female apprentise and teach her the spell? That would certainly motivate him to be more of a gentleman."

"Aye, but then I'd have to clean the place! Couldn't let one of these Waterdeep upstarts think that I can't even clean a room without some magic."

Chev's arrival in Waterdeep just after the sun had reached its peak for the day, was marked by his overwhelming feeling that this was indeed the first time he had seen the place in over a hundred and fifty winters. There was no doubt in his mind, that he was beginning anew in a way he could begin to comprehend. He felt very alive.

There was also an incredible sense of deja vu. He had done this before a hundred and fifty three years ago and still it felt a lot like yesterday.

Before entering however, he was stopped by the guards at the city gate and asked his business.

"Sword juggler," he replied simply. No one doubted his claim, but Chev knew it had very little to do with his reply. Rather, it was because of the solid line up of people and caravans that needed inside the city. They simply had no time to argue and check over story in rediculous detail. Which made Chev question why they bothered to guard the gates at all. They didn't seem to be stalling anyone more than a few seconds, which made the whole idea quite pointless.

Drawing three ornate daggers, remnants of the d'Or family, Chev juggled them as he walked through the gates in a display of showmanship. The guards didn't seem impressed, as they probably saw this kind of talent on a regular basis. Nevertheless, Chev continued to juggle as he walked down the street.

The flashing blades relaxed him and the amount of concentration needed soothed his mind as he went over his plan in detail. It would be, in his entire history of fighting, the single most dangerous and long term task ever. The question was where to start?

He passed a street musician, a fiddler who was quickly drawing a crowd with her music. She was dressed in a simple shirt and flowing skirt and her hair was held back by a bandanna. "A bard," he pondered aloud and sheathed the daggers in his belt. He elbowed his way through the crowd and stopped in front of her wide brimmed hat that lay on the ground.

The glint of a platinum coin caught the bard's eye as the warrior tossed it in the hat and her violin screeched as she stopped to regard the warrior. "You must be pretty rich to be tossing around coins like that," she stated.

"I pay even better for words that please my ears," Chev responded cryptically, knowing he had caught her undivided attention.

The small crowd of gawkers got the hint and filtered away into the hordes of people. Chev watched them go and then turned his eyes back to the bard who was dumping the coins into a pouch tied to her slim waist.

She had the awkward grace of a half-elf and her tight fitting kilt and fluffy white linen blouse displayed a figure that was simply delectable. "Perhaps my knowledge of lore can help you then if you'd like to buy me a drink or two with that pouch of platinum." She strayed dangerously close to the warrior and his money pouch.

Chev placed a hand over the pouch and she smiled broadly. "If you can't take a tease good warrior, I'm afraid you have me at the disadvantage. Your name, if you please?" she asked, with an appraising look up and down the handsome warrior.

"Chev."

"Just Chev?"

"Just Chev."

"Very well Just Chev," she smiled and took his arm in hers. "If thats your real name," she said with mock suspicion. "My name is not to be given away lightly, but I shall share it with you. I am Valeska Ko'Ragur and I go by many other names, but none more infamous."

"Never heard of it."

She gave him a look as if she was going to pout or cry but shrugged instead. "Just as well then. I prefer it that way," she said, opening the door to a cozy looking inn. "After you."

Entering the inn, which was indeed cozy, warm and smelling of soft spices, Chev concluded that he had chanced upon no ordinary bard. She had an extraordinary gift for being likeable, unlike that farmer, whose gift had always unnerved the warrior. As she led him to a booth, he concluded that she was a natural leader and accustomed to doing so.

An elderly woman with short curls came forward, drying her hands with an apron. "What will ye have my dears?"

Chev looked about for a menu but saw none. "What's on the menu?"

"Practically ev'rything for a starving traveller," the woman winked at Chev.

Snorting, Chev said "Okay. How about soup, some bread and anything else you can think of." He set down a platinum coin, the only type he kept in his purse.

"Well, gods bless my fat cheeks!" she exclaimed and snatched up the coin. "Ye'll be getting a meal fit for royalty!" She nudged Valeska on the arm. "Except ours tastes better!" Cackling, the old woman walked away.

"Interesting woman," Chev commented.

"I've met a lot of interesting people in my time human," Valeska replied. "They say that you can judge someone better by the number of miles they've walked in other people's shoes better than their own shoes. With many names under my heel, I've walked more than my share."

Chev was intrigued by this bard yet wanted nothing more than to conduct his business and head out. "I only rarely leave Waterdeep I'm afraid. My business has always been here and yet right now, after many years of not being here, I need information."

"I understand," Valeska's eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

"I need to know more about Waterdeep's Harpers, in particular names and faces."

"Do you seek any particular ones?"

"Nope. All of them."

The half-elf's eyes widened momentarily and she pursed red lips. "There is no way I can give you such a long list, but I can certainly give you the knowledge of those that I know of." She paused dramatically. "For a price."

Chev grinned and clapped his hands twice. "Well met! Name your price my dear scholar!"

"One platinum for a name, one for their face. That's a total of two per person," she responded eagerly. "And trust me, my list is extensive if not complete."

Chev nodded slowly. If she knew anymore than thirty Harpers he would be short on coins and have to revert to a diamond hidden in the sole of his boot. He hoped it was still there after a hundred and fifty years. "How many?"

Valeska pursed her lips again. "At least sixty, although I'll probably think of more as we talk." She leaned over the table to get a better look at his money pouch. "You sure you have enough in there?"

"No, but I have a diamond that will more than cover it."

"In that case I'll be as detailed as possible." Valeska leaned back in her seat and pondered what she could do with some new found wealth.

A darkly cloaked burly figure walked down the alley behind the Yawning Portal. He paused in the shadows every couple of seconds, listening for the slightest sounds. He tweaked grey mustaches as he studied a form lying against the wall of the tavern before rushing to the side of his fellow Harper.

Mirt the Merciless had many names but he was known more commonly as Mirt the Moneylender. He knelt beside the broken and battered form of a young Harper named Rolt. He found the silver pin of a harp lying on the boy's chest. Someone had deliberate left this behind as a message for Mirt. Had the drow caught up with the boy on thr surface somehow?

The Old Wolf pocketed the silver Harper pin and lifted his apprentice over his broad shoulder. Going around the corner, he stepped through the back door of the Yawning Portal to have a long talk with Durnan.