The Climb to Wisdom
At the request of Lady Blackstaff, the party set out to visit Hlam, a reclusive monk and respected member of Force Grey—the elite order sworn to protect Waterdeep. His hermitage lay high upon the slopes of Mount Waterdeep, and it was said that those who sought his wisdom must first prove their worth.
The ascent began with a debate: follow the steep, winding path carved for pilgrims—or test themselves by scaling the sheer cliffs. They chose a mix of both, navigating ledges and rock faces slick with morning mist. Along the way, they discovered stones etched with ancient runes—familiar symbols of balance and power that pulsed faintly with arcane energy. The party made careful note of their patterns, sensing they would soon prove important.
The Monk of Many Trials
Hlam awaited them within a natural cavern turned shrine, his back straight and still despite the mountain wind. Barefoot and serene, his eyes glimmered with an unnerving blend of calm and challenge. “Lady Blackstaff worries too much,” he said. “If she sent you, then you must earn her trust as I once did. Prove yourselves—and touch me, if you can.”
He gestured toward the grand temple chamber carved into the mountain’s heart. The walls shimmered with embedded crystals, and the floor was inscribed with sigils identical to those the party had seen during their climb. At the far end loomed a towering statue of a goddess with a thousand arms, her stone fingers poised in gestures of divine balance.
At Hlam’s soft chant, the statue’s eyes flared to life. Its many arms began to move, each casting a different elemental spell—fire and ice, wind and stone—turning the chamber into a deadly dance of magic. “Reach me,” Hlam said simply, and closed his eyes in meditation.
The Trial
The challenge tested every ounce of the party’s skill. Fireballs rolled across the floor like living suns, while sheets of frost sealed pathways and sent them scrambling for footing. Stone arms blocked routes, forcing them to think rather than charge. Using wit, teamwork, and more than a little luck, they deciphered the pattern of runes across the floor—using their earlier observations to deactivate certain traps and channel the flow of magic.
At last, after what felt like hours, they reached Hlam’s dais. The monk smiled faintly as one of them placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good,” he murmured. “You act with thought, not impulse. Remember this lesson—the mountain gives nothing to those who do not listen to its heart.”
With the trial complete, the glow faded from the statue, and the air stilled once more. Hlam inclined his head in respect. “Tell the Lady Blackstaff,” he said, “that her faith in you was not misplaced.”
The Skyward Descent
After bidding Hlam farewell, the party continued to the summit, where the Gryphon Cavalry Guard maintained their lofty aerie. The riders welcomed them with admiration, impressed by the tales of Hlam’s challenge—few ever returned victorious. With the sun setting over the Sword Coast, the party mounted gryphons for the descent, the city of Waterdeep glittering like a thousand candles below.
As the wind rushed past and the world spread wide beneath them, the weight of the mountain seemed to fall away. For the first time in a long while, they felt not like wanderers—but like heroes of their own legend in the making.