In the calm before the storm, the party spent a long and uneasy day gathering knowledge, allies, and equipment for the coming Cassalanter gala. The echoes of the vault still lingered, but answers—and perhaps vengeance—were within reach.
The Rosemary and Thyme
Their first stop was The Rosemary and Thyme, a quiet refuge of candlelight, laughter, and worn velvet. The Madame and her trusted doorman, Cliff, welcomed Tinnitus as if he were family returning from a long voyage. Cliff clasped his shoulder, congratulating him on his most recent performance, while the Madame fretted over his health, lamenting how thin he looked.
Then came his mother.
The reunion was heartfelt but heavy. She embraced her son, tears catching the candlelight, and confessed how she had feared something terrible had befallen him. When asked about Victoro Cassalanter, she hesitated. Her words came with the weight of guilt and secrecy—never outright confirming what they suspected, yet hinting that Tinnitus’ bloodline was tangled with that of the Cassalanter family. Her remorse was genuine; she insisted she had only ever sought to protect her son from a truth that could destroy him.
The House of Inspired Hands
Their next stop was the House of Inspired Hands, the temple of Gond. The grand halls hummed with invention—clocks, constructs, and clattering tools echoing off brass and marble. The party sought Azerty, their missing contact. No one had seen her for over a week.
Quertex took matters into his own hands—literally. Disguising himself as Azerty, he bluffed his way past the temple attendants, with Tinnitus and Skalmöld assisting by posing as an eccentric inventor and his “mechanical assistant.” Their performance drew attention, providing the perfect distraction as Quertex, now Azerty, slipped into the archives.
Inside, he encountered an elderly tortle archivist, whose careful steps echoed between shelves of schematics. Not finding any documents of Azerty herself. Through quick thinking and smoother lies, Quertex convinced the tortle to fetch a distant volume, giving him the chance to snatch the massive logbook from the entrance desk and flee. As he made his escape, other priests confronted him, asking where “Azerty” had been for so long—hinting that she may have left the temple under mysterious circumstances.
The Cassalanter Villa
Under cover of night, the group scouted the Cassalanter Villa. The estate was alive with preparation—servants erecting canopies and arranging banquet tables, guards doubling their patrols. From a shadowed alley, the party lobbed a sack of excrement down one of the chimneys—a crude but cathartic act of rebellion. The smell of arrogance and excess wafted over the walls alongside the scent of wine and spices. The Cassalanters were planning something grand, something darkly celebratory.
The Blackstaff Tower
Their next destination was the Blackstaff Tower. The group explained what had transpired in the vault. The Blackstaff listened, her expression stern and disappointed—they had risked much by doing all this alone.
She spoke then of the staff’s history: how the first Blackstaff was hunted by a devil called the Lord of Lies, who sought to claim the mage’s soul and turn him into a general of Hell. To deny that fate, the original Blackstaff bound fragments of his soul and power into his staff upon death—a ritual repeated by every successor, ensuring no infernal power could ever claim them. The tower itself was now a mausoleum of souls, bound to protect the city and the staff’s wielder.
Recognizing the Cassalanters’ infernal ties, the Blackstaff resolved to keep her distance from their schemes, warning that her presence might only provoke the devils’ attention. She provided guidance but refused direct involvement—leaving the coming infiltration in the party’s hands.
Preparations
With plans made and nerves tightened, the group spent the evening scouring the markets for potions and equipment. Invisibility draughts and healing tonics were secured, along with the quiet confidence that tomorrow, they would stand at the heart of the Cassalanter web.
As the sun set behind Mount Waterdeep, they gathered their supplies and steeled themselves for what was to come. The invitation had been cast. Tomorrow, they would answer it.