Hiram scowled at the frying pan and flipped the egg skillfully in the air and caught it with a sizzling splat. "Fry damn you! Fry!" he threatened with a fist. He was more than a little impatient to try some lifesyrup on his eggs since all the work last night.

"Something wrong with the woodstove?"

Hiram shook his head and turned to face Pierce who leaned against the kitchen door. "I think it's the autumn air. It just doesn't want to fry quickly sometimes."

"Give it a minute," shrugged Pierce. "It will be fried by then."

Hiram didn't argue and wiped his greasy hands on his apron. "So are you going to hunt down Chev or what? Did Draque find anything?"

Pierce sighed. "Not a trace. He says that Chev has somekind of magical item that blurs his location. The most we know is that he's still in Waterdeep and-" The headmaster stopped to purse his lips.

"And?" Hiram prompted.

"Draque isn't going to approve of this but I'm thinking of getting some help from some gold elves."

Hiram swallowed. Anybody who knew the drow knew that he had an outright hatred of the golden haired High elves and only tolerated Moon elves at a distance. This was why Draque's illusionary appearance was that of a Moon elf and not the more respected High elves. Or at least respected by every surface dweller but Draque. It was in the drow's breeding perhaps but he'd rather spit on a surface elf than look at one.

Pierce too had a similar hatred of gold elves but his was based on their general haughty attitude. Yet the Doctor was still prepared to set aside his prejudices and shake an elf's hand.

Provided of course the elf didn't have a sword pointed at Pierce's throat. The Harper merely smiled and let his hand fall back to his side. "I'm here to speak with Petre Gizehalle. I have an appointment."

Looking down without fear, the Doctor wondered if the elves had deliberately built the Twisting Tower in a spiral to make people dizzy.

The gold elf scowled and signalled to a lieutenant to check Pierce's story with a list. The young elf nodded and the captain lowered his sword. "You may pass, Pierce O'Hiram," the captain said in a light lyrical voice despite the intended gruffness.

The Doctor ignored the lack of his proper title and stepped past the guard into the tower. Petre was one of the few elven Harpers in the city, but he also was one of the few who vied with Blackstaff for the title of Archmage of Waterdeep. His intelligence bested Khelben vaunted knowledge yet lacked the Archmage's skill and that was the elf's chief flaw.

The elf was also a telepath and like Pierce and Khelben's mutual agreement, Petre and Pierce had agreed to let sleeping dogs lie. For elves however, Petre's gift was not hidden but displayed openly as a threat to those who bore evil thoughts. His abilities at delving into another's mind surpassed the Doctor's but also had the added advantage of being able to track a mind like a bloodhound tracking a wounded deer.

Stepping past more guards, Pierce entered the barroom that housed some of the wealthiest elves in the world. As if that wasn't enough, the newly built Twisting Tower, so typical of elves, was built on a trio of spiralling stilts. Looking to the centre of the room, the Doctor spied the balcony overlooking a fountain in the centre of the stilts. This building was one of Waterdeep's greatest splendors but the view from the balcony with the fountain only yards away was inspiring.

Looking about, Pierce wondered how hard it was to hide a short, fat elf in a room filled with tall skinny ones. The elf he sought was a rarity amongst rarities and his physical attributes was just the beginning.

Spotting Petre, the Harper stepped around several tables and stood in front of the elf's balcony-side table. "You know why I'm here?" The elf was one of those few people who was immune to Pierce's mind and yet Pierce couldn't defend against the elf even if he tried.

"I sensed your mind the moment you started to ascend the stairs," the elf replied and offer Pierce a seat. "Please sit my friend and enjoy some elverquisst." He pushed his own crystal glass across the table in an ancient symbol of trust and friendship.

The headmaster sat down gratefully. "Can you track Chev by using his mental residues found in my mind?" Taking a sip, he frowned at the buzz in his ears he always got from drinking potent alcohol.

"Its possible Pierce, but not for me," the elf said quickly, sparing Pierce the wait. He smiled knowingly. "But together," he said slowly. "If I lower my mental barriers and you lower your feeble ones-" He grinned broadly. "Then together we could use our combined powers to track him."

The Doctor sat up straight. "I didn't know that was possible."

"The mind has no limits, but your sword reach does."

Chev's sword reach didn't have many limits and he drove his blade home through the chest of yet one more warrior. Looking up at the elves overhead, he only smiled as arrows bounced off the invisible barrier shielding him from their deadly fire. Alarms were sounding and more elven guards poured down to swarm the warrior.

Only to be slaughtered as he continued his path upward.

"I feel him!" Petre shouted unexpected and stood bolt upright. His chair fell over with an audible thud in the silence that followed the mage's outburst. "Chev is attacking! Gather weapons and magic!" he roared in a voice that carried throughout the building.

With speed and grace the elves responded to their fat leader's command faster than any loyal soldiers could have to a paladin's order. In seconds a vast arsenal of weapons had appeared and magic using elves were readying their spell components.

"Remember!" shouted Petre. "Time your magic carefully! We don't want the magics to interfere with each other and result in an explosive backlash!" Pierce agreed with that summary, knowing that elven magic tended to be more complex and that these complexities could easily get warped. It reminded him of a childhood story in which the mage turned the knight into a frog, but the mage's spell went awry and the frog turned out to be twenty feet tall. It was strange how his mind worked sometimes.

Drawing his sabers, the Doctor elbowed his way past slim elven guards to the doorway. He stood confidently before the bolted door and didn't even blink in surprise when Chev kicked it down. His twin blades flashed out and the younger warrior blocked both easily with a swipe of his shield.

Chev's longsword jabbed past Pierce's blades and slid harmlessly off bronze plate. The fighter was not finished however and he jerked the tip upwards to nick his opponent's cheek.

Surprised with this unexpected last second move, Pierce fell back with his blades concentrating on defense while elven guards swarmed around to attack Chev's flanks. The Doctor immediately regretted that move as three quick jabs and a booted kick to the neck from the warrior before him felled four elves in rapid succession.

Petre released a string fiery missiles which dissipated like a candle in thick fog against Chev's magical shielding. The buckler, Pierce knew now, was the cause of this protective wall, but was there anyway to remove it? Certainly not with his blades, he quickly decided even as he parried away Chev's attacks and held him in check. Unless he could remove that buckler, the elves would either be slaughtered under a sharp blade or stand in confusion as their spells were proven useless.

A smile crept across the Doctor's face and this puzzled the ex-bodyguard but not as much as it shocked him when Pierce dropped his sabers and held up his fists in a boxing stance.

"What the-" murmured several elves.

Chev sheathed his blade in a flash of steel and met Pierce's armoured fists with his own as they boxed back and forth exchanging quick punches that left their jaws in agony. Whatever anyone could say about Chev, they could at least say he was honourable and enjoyed fighting for the mere feeling of fighting.

It didn't take a mind reader to know that the warrior reveled in expressing his abilities and enjoying the activity. You could see it in his eyes. What Pierce saw in his mind went farther however. He could see Chev's fast paced memories of fighting in the back alleys of Waterdeep in his youth, memories similar to the Doctor's own upbringing. They were filled with the simple joy of being alive and yet so close to death. It heightened his pulse and made every sense so much faster.

But not fast enough when Pierce's greater reflexes got past the warrior's defenses to place a foot solidly behind Chev's. The Doctor smiled and took the warrior to the ground with one of the first wrestling moves he had ever learned. Now it was simply a matter of getting that buckler off.

"Pile on top of him!" shouted Petre and young elves nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to burden down Chev.

Ignoring the rough movements of the elves and the punchs of Chev, Pierce tore the buckler off the warrior's arm started to get up. He wished he had taken his time however in order to let more elves pile on top for Chev's strength was more than enough to drag himself to his feet despite the welterweight elves.

Falling backwards against the balcony railing, Pierce saw it coming.

With fluid kicks and a level of finesse no other mortal warrior could have achieved, Chev surged to his feet and charged Pierce in desperation. Without his magical buckler he knew just how vulnerable he was. The two men grappled for a moment but it was mere icing on the cake as the railing snapped under their combined weights and they fell into the roaring water fountain.

Closing his eyes and trying to ignore the dizziness and queasy feeling in his stomach, Pierce waited for the impact that would surely come. Taking a deep breath as he fell free of the fountain, he curled himself into a tight ball and hoped his armour wouldn't weigh him down too much in the deep water.

The bane of the d'Or family did likewise but had no worries about his ability to swim. Rather he held tightly to his buckler with a grip an ogre couldn't break. The roar of rushing water filled his ears and froze his heart as it occurred to him that he was falling over fifty yards and that the water might as well be granite when he finally landed.

A great elven bard had once said that water was the most powerful element of all. Without it one would die of thirst. With too much one could drown with ease. With time it could wear down mountains and build forests. With just enough, it made Chev's hands slippery and the impact of a two hundred pound man falling fifty yards was more than enough to tear the buckler from the warrior's clenched hands.

Pierce hit with a similar splash which was marked by his silent scream as he plunged underwater. Pain like he had never felt before wracked his frame and oblivion threatened to steal his world back from him. His feet his the bottom of the pool of churning water and agony shot up his injured leg, again threatening his consciousness.

Gritting his teeth despite the loss of air, the Doctor swung his arms valiantly and bobbed to the surface long enough to draw breath before his armour pulled him back down. Water filled his ears and he concentrated on the direction to the edge. To his side he glimpsed Chev's form diving below the surface in search of the missing buckler.

Reason defying his own quest to take down Chev, Pierce walked slowly across the bottom of the pool towards the edge. He swam to the surface every few steps to gasp in another breath and float back to the bottom. He could feel the water getting shallow and the bottom slanting towards the edge. Before long he could stand on his toes and breath easily once more.

At the water basin's edge servants and guards awaited him with towels and helping arms. They pulled the warrior out of the water like a gardener plucking carrots out of the ground and set him down gently beside the fountain. Someone handed him his sabers and it took the Doctor awhile to determine that it was Petre, his mental shieldings preventing him from discerning who it was until he saw the chubby elf's face.

The elven guards quickly scoured the fountain basin but found no trace of Chev. They looked expectantly to Petre who nodded in the direction of the merchant quarter. "Does he still have that buckler?" the mage asked hopefully.

Pierce tried to speak but found that his throat was too sore from lack of air. He shook his head instead and mouthed the word "No."

"Well, then we'll turn this over to the Fifth Cavalry. The Moon elves can deal with him."

The Crescent Spur was a private inn owned by the Moon elves of Evereska. Only members of their elite army of elven warriors could stay at the prestigious inn. This rule had one exception and he was considered a regular at all of Waterdeep's taverns, pubs and inns: Martinez. By default, the ex-griffon cavalry captain was the only human who could eat at this inn and by chance, his old unit, the Fifth, happened to be in Waterdeep on this fateful day.

And thus, when knews arrived that game was afoot, the elven captain happily tossed his riding gloves to his teacher. "Do you feel like flying?" said the elf with a wry grin.

Martinez downed the liquor in his glass and set it down with an audible thud. "A chance to ride ol' Scarbeak and show him who is still the master?" He stood and gracefully hurtled a table on his way to the door.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," the elven captain shouted and chased after their ever charismatic leader. Despite years of drinking, the elf could still admire the cat-like grace of this extraordinary human. The same grace that allowed the warrior to fool many elves into thinking he was actually one of them.

It was true that they had felt betrayed by his race when it was discovered years afterwards, but they had stood by him in defiance when the Elders of Evereska demanded that Martinez be removed in order to preserve tradition. If Martinez left, so would they all the elves of the Fifth Cavalry had responded.

Such outright defiance would not be tolerated and the Cavalry was banished and ordered never to return to their jurisdiction. Since then the Fifth had wandered up and down the Sword Coast and in all directions around Evereska, but never going near their home city. It hurt them that the elders had been so stubborn about it but the cavalry was equally stubborn and earned quick renown for their valiant defense of the elven city and all neighbooring communities.

The army itself respected the Fifth's decision but valued their family ties more. They met the Fifth outside of Evereska's boundaries with open arms and at the same time bearing news of friends and family back home. It was the elven captain's secret hope that he might return home sometime in the next twenty years but it would take a miracle of bards to change the hearts of the Elders.

Maybe today was a day for a miracle.

Running past smoky chimneys, Chev wished he had taken time to learn more about dodging arrows rather than relying on his buckler's magic. With the shield lost somewhere on the bottom of that accursed elven fountain he had no choice but to continue running across the roofs of the merchant quarter and ignore the pain of the arrow stuck in his side.

Overhead griffons shrieked and swarmed around the fleeing warrior. Led by Martinez, they raised their voices in an elven chant and flooded the air around Chev with well crafted arrows.

Jumping over the edge of a building, Chev tumbled to the ground and rolled to his feet with arrows bouncing off the cobbles near his heels. Pushing into the crowd, he disappeared into the bustle and confusion of one of Waterdeep's busiest streets. Moving slowly and confidently, he lost himself in the swirl of people and vanished into the doorway of a tailor's shop.

Behind the counter, a halfling looked up in surprise at the injured warrior. Chev's disgust of halflings was evident as he picked the stocky humanoid up from behind the counter and over it so the little one was face to face with the warrior's angrily twisted face. "Where's the nearest healer?"

"Ugh, uh," blubbered the halfling and started to stammer. Chev shook him viciously and tightened his grip around the tailor's neck. "Down the street. Ijade's Poultices," he croaked.

The warrior tossed the halfling aside and went towards the back of the shop. He charged through a silk curtain and past a storage room filled with rolls of cloth both fine and coarse. Coming to the backdoor, he kicked it off its hinges and stepped out into the alley.

Four doors down, with bad spelling so typical of charlatan healers, hung a sign reading "Ijadas Poltisses". The door below it fell off its hinges and Chev stormed inside with sword in hand. Charlatan or not, her meager healing skills would have to do.

"Accursed guards," grumbled the barrel chested dwarf as he closed up his shop early and locked the oak door behind him. "Messed up a good work day with all their running around and lookin' fer some stupid warrior who's probably not even-"

A sword point nicked the dwarf's backside and he straightened like he had just sat on a thistle. Clearing his voice, despite his fear, the dwarf held up his hands to show he was unarmed. "What do ye want?"

"An excuse not to kill you for insulting my abilities," Chev replied. "I am far from stupid and if you're smart enough, you might actually live to see your anvil again."

"My anvil?" the dwarf started to ask but felt the sharp tip of the sword bite further into his back and warm blood trickling down.

"Yes. I'm looking for some quality weapons and I'm certain you're just the smart dwarf to give them to me."

The weaponsmith nodded urgently and started to reach for his keys to reopen the his shop.

Chev tripped the dwarf and shoved him up against the door like he was a battering ram. The oak held under the dwarf's weight and Chev's strength, but the hinges did not. The door crashed inwards, upsetting a table of scrolls.

The warrior reached down and scanned what was the dwarven equivalent of architectural blueprints, except it was for a weapon. "Interesting," he said and tossed the scroll aside. He knelt down beside the semi-unconscious dwarf. "You know what? I've killed eight Harpers today, fourteen elves and nearly finished off Doctor Pierce. If you don't stand up pretty soon I'll add a dwarf to my list."

The smith swallowed and grimly got to his feet despite the groggy feeling in his stomach. He hadn't felt this awful since the morning after a dwarven mead drinking contest. He hated to admit it, but even dwarves get hangovers.

Chev glanced around the somewhat crude shop, eyeing the merchandise. "I was thinking of something similar to a rapier, but with more power to it."

The dwarf's mouth twitched out of fear when he spoke but he did so nevertheless. "A rapier is a wussy weapon. It takes talent to wield one properly but you're hitting the anvil right on when you say it needs more power."

"Something similar to a short sword perhaps? I want to be able to wield it in my left hand."

The dwarf wrung his hands and tried to smile despite the circumstances. "A saber might be-"

"Doctor Pierce's weapon is a saber. No thank you."

"A cutlass perhaps?"

"Perhaps but its not good enough for stabbing. I need something that is more versatile."

"Versatile," the dwarf almost grumbled in mimicry but chewed on his lip instead. "I'm afraid I can't help you. I-" He stopped and his eyes nearly bugged out as he stared at the sword poised ready at his throat.

"Then you better tell me where I could find weapons that suit my needs."

The dwarf wrung his hands behind his back and stuttered as he tried to think quickly. "Well, uh. I, um, think you could-" He stopped and took a deep breath. "You could find the best weapons there are at the Academy."

"The Academy of Combat?" Chev asked, slowly withdrawing his sword.

"Ah, yes," replied the weaponsmith nervously. "They have perhaps the largest collection of rare and magical weapons along the Sword Coast."

Chev shrugged and punched the dwarf solidly in the chin. He wouldn't kill this dwarf afterall, but he couldn't afford to have the smith running off and telling the city guard of his destination.

Valeska Ko'Ragur was accustomed to things going her way. It was simply one of those things she had been raised with and become used to. If they didn't do what she wanted them to, she used her knack for charming or outwitting someone. This was not the case when Chev pushed her into a booth and sat down across from her. It didn't take a seer to figure out that he wanted something, but it did take her a moment to recover from the shock of meeting him again. Let alone here.

After hearing about his handiwork of the last couple days, she preferred to keep her distance from this incredible warrior. The question that raced through her mind now however, was whether she could stay alive that long. She was incredible with a crossbow, but up close against a fighter such as Chev? Mince meat, she mentally concluded.

Chev laid a dagger on the open table in front of him and glanced around the Yawning Portal. "You'd think we'd both know better than to wander around the dragon's den. I know my reasons, but what are yours?"

Valeska shrugged. "What better place to learn more about the dragon? I must state however that my skills at disguise are far superior compared to yours."

Chev conceded that point with a nod. "That's why I'm here. I need your expertise."

"You want me to disguise you?"

The warrior snorted and shook his head. "No, but I do need someone to help me get into the Academy."

The drow bard raised an eyebrow, thinking that she had overestimated Chev's intelligence. "Well, you could simply walk in, ye know-"

"I was referring to the vault."

She sat up straight at the mention of latter word. "The magic vault? Did I hear you correctly? You want to get into the Academy's vault?" She kept her voice low and even despite her mounting hysteria.

Chev nodded slowly. He knew it would be a challenging task but not impossible. Still, he was concerned by the amount of respect Valeska apparently held for this vault. "What do you know about the vault?"

She shook her head as if breaking a spell. "Well, lets see. Number one: its perhaps the largest vault in all of Waterdeep. Number two: its also the most well defended. Number three: its magical traps are designed by Marque Draque."

"Which means?" Chev prompted.

"Draque is the most paranoid mage in Waterdeep and he's also considered a master thief. He knows the methods thieves use to get into a vault and has a reputation for having an arsenal of spells that are the most complicated, dangerous and altogether unique. No doubt he has a trap set for everything a thief could possibly do."

"But you're not a full-fledged thief and magical traps can be dispelled, correct?"

Valeska tried to look for an alternative but knew Chev was too smart for that. "Yes, they can be dispelled, but my-"

"Your skills should be more than adequate. You and I are going to go in there and we're going to ransack that vault. You are going to need plenty of time to do so however, and I realize that." He smiled and took a sip from his mug of mulled brandy. "Which is why I'll be providing a long distraction."

The bard narrowed her elven eyes at him. "And what's in it for me asides from nearly getting killed and a lot of gold in my pocket? I've been around too long to throw my life away simply to get rich when I have much better things to fight."

Chev took another quick sip and cleared his throat before singing:

	"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?"

Under the table, the drow bard clenched her fists and ignored the drawn attention to their booth from the tavern's other patrons. "You've done your homework," she hissed. "Do you mean to blackmail me into helping you?"

"Did you mean to give me the names of Harpers that deal with the drow only?" Chev rebuked. "Nay, I won't blackmail you. Indeed, I believe this will aid you immensely."

"In what way?"

"Your infamous reputation. You want the drow back home to revere you and follow you in a rebellion against the matron mothers. To do so, you must win their admiration and that is very hard to do when you're so far away, is it not? The only time they hear your name is when pieces of your poetry, or news of one of your assassinations trickles through the ground and back home." He took a quick sip and stared deep into her eyes, penetrating her will. "Think of your reputation if you run off with the Academy's vault?"

Gambling had been a favoured past time in Pierce's youth, and his skill at sleight-of-hand had nothing to do with his ability to always win at cards. The combination of foresight and mind reading had got him accused of cheating many times, but each time the young Pierce had won out by betting one last bet: Let the accuser shuffle the cards and cut the deck and if he could pull out a card, with sleeves rolled up and both hands on the table, that was higher than the card they pulled, they would have to agree that he was simply blessed with luck.

The other instructors at the Academy had a card game every night and always, against their better judgement, invited Pierce to play. These days the warrior was smarter with the way he played, deliberately losing a couple times and falling for their bluffs, but at the same time winning more than he lost. They assumed, of course, that it was pure skill that kept him ahead in the winnings and they vied against each other to see who could beat Pierce's score.

He could have made a fair living as a gambler he supposed, but it would have been fairly boring compared to the intricacies of combat. The veteran warriors around him found cards relaxing compared to the constant barrage of swordplay, and as a time to bond and make crude jokes about Waterdeep's leaders. This was one of the simpler pleasures Pierce always took time to enjoy. He hoped however, that he wouldn't become like many other old men who spent their last days playing away with other old men until the fatal heart attack.

Looking across the table at the younger warriors, the Doctor wondered if it would have preferable to have died young, rather than endure the torture of growing old. "Grey hairs," he mused aloud.

"Huh?" murmured Ricarg to his right. "Wha'ye mumbling 'bout?"

"We're all getting grey hairs," Pierce explained with a shrug.

"Probably the fault of our students!" snorted Ricarg. "We're probably lucky to still have hair unlike your friend Martinez! He probably pulled it all out while having to deal with those bothersome elves!"

Pierce ignored the biting criticism. He too had a distaste for what seemed to many humans as an elven tradition based on snotty superiority. Still, the Doctor knew better than to let such criticism go unchecked. "Actually, Draque claims that baldness is hereditary. If your father was bald, so will you. Sort of like your big nose," he said, nudging the warrior to eliminate any hard feelings.

Ricarg shrugged it off and went back to studying his hand. He barely noticed the incident and would surely forget it by next morning. That was one thing Pierce had always admired about his pals: They could shrug off insults without blinking. It was in human nature, or at least male nature, to ignore threats to their ego.

The Harper nearly fell out of his chair at the sudden realization. Chev ignored him as a threat, but he was undoubtably a threat. "Game over guys!" Pierce said as he leapt to his feet. "You can keep my gold! I've got to go!"

"Appeal to his ego? I doubt it. By all your accounts, he's too smart to fall for that old trick," muttered Draque. He pored over the pages of his spellbook, scarcely paying attention to Pierce. "You may know him better than any other living person, but you can't predict whether he's that stupid to fall for such an obvious ploy."

"But that doesn't matter," Pierce responded with a grin. "He'll ignore the threat because he is so confident, and really has nothing to lose."

"So what? What makes you think that you can actually beat him, even if you do manage to corner him?"

"I don't plan to. Surely your magic could subdue him."

"Yes, but the chances of turning him to stone again would be highly unlikely. Over time, people build up a strong resistance to magic and after a hundred and fifty years of being trapped in such a powerful spell its going to take a spell that I can barely cast to recapture him. To say nothing of the fact that at the moment I don't even have the spare energy to cast it. I've focused all of my magical powers towards fixing that blasted sword-"

Pierce and Draque looked at each other and then across the room to the magically protected door. The Doctor could sense the evil behind it, seeking to get out of its confinement. "Bait?" they said in unison.

"Perhaps," muttered Pierce. "Let's start by letting more people know about the fact that you fixed it. When word leaks down to Chev, it might be the one thing that will draw him it. Lets start by trippling the guards in case he comes back for the sword earlier than we expect."