In the fourth adventure in the Dungeons & Dialogue: Language Exchange series, the heroes of the Flaming Fists set out from the Seatower of Balduran to follow up an on investigation that could end the epidemic of violence plaguing their city once and for all, but they must face an unlikely foe with twisted ambitions of their own.

While the war in the distant north had called away the army of the Flaming Fists, violence reigned in the streets of Baldur’s Gate. The endless conflict between the cults of the dark gods, Bane the lord of tyranny and Bhaal the lord of murder, threatened to tear the city apart. The feud began under a supernatural darkness, when black clouds covered the sun and rained fiendish ash upon the population, filling people with wrath. Although the long night had ended months ago, the war on the streets continued without cease. 

The city’s only municipal prison at the Seatower of Balduran, the headquarters of the Flaming Fists, was overflowing with inmates. Deputy Warden Cogrus Stonehammer was at her wit’s end. The head warden had left her in charge while he went off to fight for gold and glory in the Silver Marches, but he had taken most of the Seatower’s best soldiers with him, leaving only a skeletal crew to man the prison. Cogrus was forced to release inmates to make room for newcomers. Her overworked jailors saw the same faces passing through the prison gates again and again. Something had to be done. Cogrus gathered together the few remaining adventurers in the city willing to heed her call.

Frost Tooth was a dragonborn druid who had sold ice produced with magical frost, but the warring cultists had wrecked her ice shop and melted her supplies of precious ice. When she saw the recruitment call put out by the Flaming Fists, she grabbed her moon sickle and signed up, hoping to get back at the cultists who had wronged her.

Glynn was a half-elf bard born to an elf mother and human father, but the proud high-elf mother felt ashamed of her own child. Unloved by both parents, Glynn joined various troupes of wandering bards on many adventures, but was forced to leave each one after a scandalous affair. Glynn continued to live the life of a vagabond, carrying only a magical lute, eventually arriving at Baldur’s Gate and joining the Flaming Fists.

Theren Vaelthorne was a high-elf wizard born into a powerful noble house and groomed to serve in the Lord’s Alliance. But the promise of a life of leisure and comfort came to an end when he began to look into the murder of a trusted household servant. The victim had been part of a secret internal inquiry among high-elven families to allay fears that cultists of the Dead Three Gods had infiltrated their noble houses. Theren had taken up his wand and joined Flaming Fists to further his own investigation, no matter where it might lead.

Godrik Vanhart was a human fighter who came from a family of farmers in the neighboring land of Elturgard. While his younger brother planned to take over the family farm, Godrik had dreamed of adventure from an early age. He joined the army and served as a Hellrider for ten years. After his thirty-first winter, he took up his longsword and left the army to join the Order of the Gauntlet so that he might embark on a new life as a freelance adventurer. Yet his path ultimately led him to another military hierarchy in the ranks of the Flaming Fists.

Lastly, Shaw was an aasimar from a peaceful village, but he had a stormy disposition, being a cleric of Tempus, the god of War. He had come to Baldur’s Gate as a traveler to experience the mighty wonders of the City of Blood, when he was discovered by Flaming Fist recruiters who were in desperate need of manpower. When they saw the gauntlets of ogre power on his hands and the holy symbol of Tempus around his neck, they snatched him off the street and deputized him at once.

Despite being a motley crew, the deputy warden had good reason to trust these five unlikely heroes. She had previously sent them on a mission to infiltrate and investigate the Church of Lathander, which was suspected of harboring cultists of Bane. The heroes indeed discovered a number of cultists who were acting as false missionaries. Though the charlatans were apprehended and imprisoned in the Seatower of Balduran, the overcrowding allowed them to quickly make their way through the prison system and return to the streets. The heroes had earned the deputy warden’s respect, but they also gained the enmity of Lathander’s clergy who did not appreciate the ignominious attention they received.

Now, the deputy warden had a new task for the heroes. She wanted them to stop the ongoing violence in the city, using any means necessary. Toward that end, she offered to put the heroes in touch with another faction within the Flaming Fists, led by a dwarf cleric named Durin Ironfist, who was also a member of parliament. Durin’s team of investigators had uncovered evidence indicating that the War of the Dark Cults was the result of a conspiracy by forces from beyond the borders of Baldur’s Gate. To learn the details of their discovery, the heroes would first need to find Durin in the High Hall, the city’s center of government where the parliament of peers held their assembly meetings.

High Hall

The heroes passed through the Manor Gate and entered the Upper City. Theren, being of noble birth, led the others through the gate by convincing the guards that they were his personal servants, including his druid landscaper, court entertainer, mercenary bodyguard, and personal physician. He gave off just the right air of petty arrogance as a patriar to discourage the guards from asking any further questions.

At the High Hall, the heroes entered the crowded assembly hall. The parliament of peers better resembled an unruly mob. Here and there the peers were arguing among themselves or resorting to fisticuffs. Duke Thalamra Vanthampur, who was presiding over the meeting, looked bored and uncaring. Durin Ironfist was in the far end of the hall, but it was impossible for the heroes to get his attention over all the noise, let alone reach him through the crowd of angry politicians.

It was then that Glynn came up with a plan to “rescue” Durin from the parliamentary meeting.

“FIRE!” shouted the half-elf bard. “There’s a fire in the High Hall!”

Glynn’s loud cry startled the peers, one of whom accidentally knocked over a brazier, which started an actual fire! The flames leaped up and consumed the curtains upon the tall windows, then licked the ceiling of the assembly hall. Soon, the great chamber of parliament was filled with smoke and consumed by a massive blaze! The peers stampeded out of the hall, carrying Durin with them like a dwarf caught in a tidal wave. The heroes themselves were nearly trampled by the mob and narrowly escaped.

Durin thanked the heroes for plucking him from the endless parliamentary proceedings. When he understood the purpose of their visit, he told them the results of the investigation undertaken by adventurers at his behest: a fallen cleric of Torm from Elturel, disguised as a cleric of Bane, sacrificed himself and made it appear as if he was killed by a cultist of Bhaal. This incident sparked the War of the Dark Cults, and it was part of a larger plot to undermine the city of Baldur’s Gate, orchestrated by agents of Elturel, corrupt priests of Gond, and others yet to be discovered. 

Durin’s investigators had shared all of their evidence with Ettvard Needle, the editor of the popular newspaper Baldur’s Mouth. Investigative reports detailing the conspiracy had begun to be serialized in the newspaper. However, Ettvard was no stranger to the tabloid business, and despite having all the information he needed to break the story wide open, he was happy to take his time and milk the story for all it was worth. It would take weeks for the news to spread through the city and reach the ears of the cultists who were still killing each other and endangering innocent lives.

What was more, Durin suspected that hidden forces were spreading their own misinformation to counteract the truth and prolong the feud between the cults. If the heroes could uncover the culprits behind this campaign to incite violence, then perhaps they could bring an end to the cultists’ war.

However, Theren suspected there was more to the situation. For violence of this scale to persist, the warring factions required arms. Perhaps someone was also providing the cults with large stores of weapons to continue murdering one another. The elven wizard surmised that only a wealthy patriar of the Upper City would have the means to carry out such an enterprise. The best place to inquire about large arms purchases would be the city market in the Wide, making it the party’s next destination.

Massacre in the Street

The heroes headed toward the enormous public square in the Upper City known as the Wide where the city’s largest market was held. The grey sky had begun to appear through the clouds, so the market was open once again. But unlike in the past, many of the local farmers and vendors had been pushed out to make room for wealthy merchants from Amn and Elturel. The merchants of Amn brought hired a few thugs and mercenaries to guard their wares, but the Elturian merchants who were far fewer in number had brought an entire army of knights, allegedly to guard their mercantile interests. But these knights of Elturel were acting as if they were the de facto city guard, apprehending and punishing anyone whom they deemed a nuisance. Meanwhile, the actual members of the Upper City Watch seemed unwilling to confront them.

On their way to the market, the heroes saw a group of local farmers arguing with several mercenaries working for the merchants from Amn. The mercenaries had kept these farmers from getting a stall at the market to make more room for their own merchants. One of the thugs, a lean and clean-cut man carrying a lute, insisted that the merchants were contributing to the city by patronizing local establishments, but the farmers were still angry at being pushed out of their own market. The two sides came close to blows when a squad of mounted knights from Elturel arrived. They were poised to “arrest” everyone at the scene! Frost Tooth intervened and convinced the knights that the farmers were not to blame. However, no one spoke up for the mercenaries, so the knights led them away, herding them into a dark alley. 

The heroes stood in horror as screams echoed through the streets. When the knights appeared again, their blades were bathed in blood. Inside the silent alley, the bodies of the slain mercenaries were strewn on the ground. The heroes lamented their own inaction, but it was too late. Even thugs from Amn did not deserve such a fate. Yet Godrik was not surprised by what he had seen. After all, he had been a Hellrider himself, and he knew the depths of inhumanity that were possible when men were bound by duty and self-righteous honor.

The heroes did not want the bodies to fall victim to thieves before they had a proper burial. They decided to look for the merchants who had hired these men. Godrik stayed behind to watch over them and keep looters at bay, perhaps feeling a pang of guilt for not staying the swords of his ruthless countrymen.

The Marketplace

Four adventurers entered the vast open-air market in the heart of the Upper City. All manner of goods from all corners of the Sword Coast were bartered and sold here. Unlike other port cities and their markets, Baldur’s Gate did not care what gods you worshipped or what moral code you lived by. So long as you had coin to spend or wares to sell, and you did not kill anyone, the Gate welcomed everyone. This openness made Baldur’s Gate a hub for goods traveling east along the River Chionthar to the city-state of Elturel, and along the Coast Way to the mercantile nation of Amn in the south.

Frost Tooth, Glynn, and Shaw spread out across the marketplace to speak with the many merchants from Amn. Meanwhile, Theren went to a large blacksmith’s stall and asked if anyone from a patriar’s estate had recently made a large purchase of weapons. Having had his own suspicions, he was not surprised to learn that such a purchase had been made by the weaponmaster of House Vaelthorne, Theren’s own family! Moreover, a servant of House Vaelthorne had recently visited the blacksmith to make the same inquiry. Theren knew it was the servant who was murdered not long ago. The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. His family’s weaponmaster was part of the conspiracy to fuel the flames of violence in the city, by trafficking weapons through the armory of the Vaelthrone Estate.

When Theren rejoined the others, they had found the merchants of Amn whose mercenaries had been cruelly executed by the knights of Elturel. The merchants mourned their loss, but they could not bring the bodies back to their home country for burial. Due to the loss of Frost Tooth’s ice shop, there was a severe shortage of ice in the city, and the merchants could not purchase enough to keep the bodies from rotting on the long journey to Amn. Therefore, they would have to conduct the burial rites within Baldur’s Gate. They took the bodies to Cliffside Cemetery where the dead could be interred in a public grave.

The heroes accompanied them, but not merely to pay their respects. Throughout their investigation, a growing suspicion had taken root in their thoughts. There were three cults of the dark gods in the underworld of Baldur’s Gate, but only two of them were openly at war with each other. What of the third cult which worshipped Myrkul, the lord of death and decay?

In their inquiries at the city market, the heroes had learned that the priests of Myrkul were busier than ever. With so many people dying throughout the city, these grim missionaries were everywhere, offering prayers to the master of death so that the dead might find their way to the afterlife. Though it had once been the smallest of the Dead Three Cults, the following of Myrkul had swelled in numbers and strength. The rise of the Myrkulites had brought an ominous air of doom upon the city. The heroes suspected that they would find one of these priests at the funeral of the dead mercenaries from Amn, which might lead them into the inner circles of the Cult of Myrkul.

Cliffside Cemetery

The sun was setting over Cliffside Cemetery south of the neighborhood of Tumbletown. The merchants from Amn had purchased a public plot to bury their dead. They began their traditional funeral rites, praying to Waukeen to bless the dead with coin for their journey to the great beyond, praying to Chauntea to let their bodies return to the earth so that new harvests could feed the next generation, and even praying to Cyric who had once governed the dead before his domain was claimed by Kelemvor the Judge. 

The merchants were interrupted by a priest of Myrkul who arrived uninvited. He was a disheveled old man dressed in rags, carrying a smoking censer shaped like a skull which he swung wildly from side to side. The priest sang a dirge of lamentation which mesmerized the merchants. Yet even more startling to the heroes was the sight of Godrik singing a dirge of his own, which drew the priest’s attention. Though the lyrics were translated into the common tongue, the words felt ancient, as if the weight of a thousand generations pressed down with each solemn utterance.

When Godrik was finished, the priest addressed him as one might address an elder of his order. For he had recognized the dirge as one that only the elder priests of Myrkul would know. He invited Godrik and his “followers” to join him at a meeting of the Myrkulites taking place that very night. 

Though the heroes were pleased by their sudden fortune, they were also perplexed by Godrik. How had he known the words of an ancient song for the dead? They would later learn that while Godrik was standing guard over the dead mercenaries, a cloaked figure had entered the alley. She might have been either a human or an elf, but she introduced herself only as a dirgesinger of Myrkul who wished to sing a song for the dead. In Godrik’s retelling of the encounter, she possessed the most beautiful voice that he had ever heard, and the words that she uttered were unforgettable. Glynn, being wise in the ways of songs and enchantments, suspected that Godrik had been charmed. Moreover, there was something oddly familiar about the song that Godrik had sung. Yet Glynn said nothing at the time. There was more pressing business at hand, as the party and their guide soon approached their destination.

The Cave of Duskhawk Hill

Night had fallen over Duskhawk Hill northeast of the neighborhood of Tumbletown. The priest of Myrkul led the heroes into a hillside cave. Inside, they saw a large assembly of hooded figures who appeared to come from all walks of life. Some looked even more ragged than the heroes’ guide. Others were clearly wealthy patriars of the Upper City, their dark cloaks embroidered with silver and eager to flaunt their opulence. 

The crowd was listening to the song of a handsome head priest at the far end of the cave. Godrik noticed that he was playing upon a lute not unlike the instrument carried by one of the dead mercenaries. The head priest seemed to be the one who had called together this gathering. When his song was done, he reminded those present of their mission to take advantage of the carnage across the city to spread the gospel of Myrkul in all corners of Baldurian society. 

Suddenly, it occurred to Glynn that the heroes might be able to manipulate this group of cultists if they could usurp the role of the head priest. Therefore, she loudly proclaimed to everyone present that Theren Vaelthorne was the real patron of this assembly, and that House Vaelthorne had provided the weapons with which the servants of Myrkul were heralding their master.

The head priest looked upon the heroes with cold rage, but he would not be outdone so easily. He began to sing a dirge to hold the attention of the crowd. Glynn sang in answer, borrowing the words uttered by Godrik at Cliffside Cemetery and weaving them into a new song. The crowd hearkened to Glynn and turned their attention to Theren, who was taken aback by the sudden onslaught of gratitude and praise.

The heroes had found good fortune once more, but this time it did not last long. From the shadows, a cloaked figure emerged, wielding a snakelike dagger which she plunged into the heart of the head priest of Myrkul! His breath left him and his lute clattered noisily on the ground. Godrik recognized the killer as the hooded dirgesinger he had met in the alley. The heroes barely had a chance to register what was happening when the Dirgesinger addressed them directly.

“I thank you, good friends, for revealing the true face of this pretender among the faithful of Myrkul,” she said, gesturing coldly to the dead priest at her feet while breaking his lute under her heel.

“And I also thank you, Theren Vaelthorne, for your patronage, with which our faithful will bring about the everlasting night in honor of the lord of death. All must go to him, but we chosen few are his harbingers. Behold the bounty bestowed unto us by House Vaelthorne!”

The Dirgesinger emptied a sack filled with daggers, axes, hammers, and other vicious weapons. Godrik picked up a snakelike dagger much like the one wielded by the Dirgesinger. It came into his heart that he would do anything for her. He would die for her, and he would kill for her. Godrik turned toward his fellow adventurers with murderous intent.

Glynn saw the change that had come over Godrik. The bard slapped the fighter in the face and knocked the dagger from his hand, then carefully wrapped the cursed weapon in a cloth. Godrik came to his senses as the unnatural bloodlust fled from him, but not the love of the voice which he longed to hear again. While the heroes were preoccupied with Godrik, the crowd of Myrkulites took up the cursed weapons and left the meeting, melting away into the night.

The heroes knew that nothing could be done at the moment. The cultists were too many and too well-armed for the adventurers to apprehend on their own. But they also knew the consequences of letting them go. They would distribute their cursed weapons throughout the city, or use the weapons themselves. Either way, there would be a bloodbath, and many innocents would be slain.

Theren guessed that these weapons were only part of a larger cache that would be circulated throughout the city from House Vaelthorne’s unless somebody intervened. Therefore, the heroes rushed to the Vaelthorne estate, hoping to stem the tide of the coming violence.

Vaelthorne Estate

The servants of Theren’s household greeted their young master, though they looked curiously upon his motley companions. Theren asked to see the weaponmaster at once. The servants reported that he was in the armory in the cellar. No one had seen him emerge since the previous day. Theren led the others downstairs.

In the armory, they found a vast store of weapons unusual for a household of noble elves, including cruel knives, clubs, hammers, axes, and maces. All of them throbbed with an aura of dark magic and wrath. In the far corner of the armory, they found the body of the weaponmaster lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

Shaw examined the body and found that the man’s throat had been slit, but more strangely his right arm appeared to be withered. He seemed to have died no more than a day ago, but his arm looked as if it had decayed far faster than the rest of the body. The heroes could not make sense of it, but Frost Tooth the druid knew this was no natural thing. Only the power of shadow and undeath could cause such necrosis.

The heroes found on the weaponmaster’s body a medallion in the shape of a skull, which also emanated with magic. Theren identified it as a medallion of thoughts, though this particular medallion also had the power to convey one’s thoughts to a distant counterpart. Theren began to explain this to the others when he heard someone else’s voice inside his mind. Someone was speaking to him through the mystical link between their medallions.

“Where are you…? Why did you not bring the weapons as promised…?”

Theren, pretending to be the weaponmaster, played an intricate game of cat and mouse with the stranger on the other end of the magical line. But he sensed that his counterpart was growing impatient, and then suspicious. At last, the voice ended the conversation with an ultimatum.

“Bring the weapons to the Temple at once… or House Vaelthorne will suffer the consequences…”

There were numerous temples and shrines in Baldur’s Gate. Which one could they mean? Theren inferred that it was likely a large establishment, dedicated to a major deity like Gond, Helm, Tymora, or Lathander. But the heroes needed more information. Only the dead weaponmaster could tell them what they needed to know.

The heroes remembered Durin Ironfist. Was he not a fellow adventurer of the Flaming Fists and a cleric of Moradin? Surely, he could use his divine magic to speak with the dead! They resolved to bring the body to the dwarf cleric for questioning.

On their way to Durin’s office, the heroes noticed something odd about the sky. Although there were no clouds whatsoever, the stars could no longer be seen either. It was as if a veil of shadow had been cast over the entire city. In the distance, screams of horror and death could be heard in the starless night, accompanied by the low murmur of countless dirges being sung everywhere. The heroes hurried their steps. They could feel a growing rage and despair overtaking their city. It was more than a feeling, coalescing into something tangible and monstrous. They did not understand for certain what was coming, but they sensed that time was running out.

The Contract

They found Durin in his office at the High Hall, which was undergoing renovation after the morning fire. However, the dwarf cleric lamented that he was unable to help the heroes unless they signed a contract for his services with his business partner, a tiefling named Atorius. Durin himself was indebted to Atorius and bound by contract. Upon the mention of his name, Atorius emerged from an adjoining room, somehow already holding a contract in each hand.

“Greetings, friends! I overheard your conversation from my office. How did I hear you through the wall? Nevermind that. What matters is that you are in need of my associate’s assistance, and I am here to facilitate your transaction. Here is a contract for one of you to sign. In exchange, my good friend will summon the spirit of the dead for interrogation. I also have a special limited-time offer. If another brave soul would like to sign a second contract, I can grant you a magical fruit from the legendary Delorean Tree, which will allow you to travel through time! Naturally, you may be skeptical of such outrageous claims, but Durin here can attest to the fruit’s efficacy, having taken part on an adventure where he witnessed its power. Isn’t that right, Durin?”

Durin reluctantly confirmed everything that Atorius had said. Signing the tiefling’s contract was the only way to receive the cleric’s aid. Theren felt the weight of responsibility for his family’s involvement in the conspiracy against the city. Therefore, he signed the contract for the cleric’s spellcasting services. But much to everyone’s surprise, Godrik signed the second contract for the magical fruit! Whether he was enticed by the promise of time travel or had deep-seated regrets of his own, only he knew.

Then at last, the heroes laid out the weaponmaster’s body upon a table in the office. Durin lit a stick of incense and spoke the sacred words to summon a spirit from beyond the grave. The dead man’s body opened its mouth, and a hollow sigh issued from it.

“You may ask five questions, but only five,” said Durin quietly. “Choose your words wisely.” 

On their way to the High Hall, the heroes had discussed what to ask the dead. Now, Theren asked his five questions.

“The cursed weapons in the armory… What temple were you going to deliver them to?” he asked.

“They were destined for the Temple of Lathander,” spoke the spirit.

The Church of Lathander was a part of this conspiracy! It seemed that the false missionaries released from the Seatower of Balduran had returned to their evil ways. But what did they have to gain from all this?

“What was your goal in distributing those cursed weapons?”

“We wanted to stoke violence across Baldur’s Gate. Only by bringing out the city’s darkest aspects would the people see the light.”

“You said ‘our goal.’ Who else were you plotting with?”

“Priests of Gond… priests of Lathander… agents of Elturel… There are many of us. We are legion.”

“Then why did you fail to deliver the weapons?”

“I met a woman with the most extraordinary voice I had ever heard, and I died before the delivery could be made.”

This last answer gave the heroes pause, particularly Godrik who knew in his heart whom the spirit meant.

Theren asked the final question.

“Who killed you?”

After a pause, the spirit answered.

“The woman with the beautiful voice… the dirgesinger…”

With a final sigh, the spirit left the weaponmaster’s body. Through the window of the office, the heroes saw a shadow overtake the city. It was not the shadow of dark clouds in the sky, but something more opaque.

Suddenly, the ceiling and wall of the office collapsed and exploded inward! Through the gaping hole, the heroes witnessed a terrifying sight. A gargantuan monster made of utter darkness stood beside the building, blotting out the sky. It was a shadow daemon from the nether realms of the Abyss, though in Godrik’s eyes the shape of the daemon seemed strangely beautiful. 

A voice issued from daemon which the heroes recognized. It was the voice of the Dirgesinger.

“Too soon… It is much too soon… But there is no choice, for you have seen too much… Into the shadow with you… I will have my revenge…”

Godrik felt anger but also sorrow in that beautiful voice. He could not bring himself to raise his sword even to defend himself. Glynn saw the look on Godrik’s face, even before the Dirgesinger inside the daemon had spoken. Then Glynn sang a song of power to ward Godrik against charms and compulsions. Suddenly, Godrik saw the world with clear eyes. He recognized the monster for what it truly was, and he raised up his shimmering sword.

Even with Godrik at their side, the heroes were in deadly peril. At the mere sight of the daemon, a wave of terror gripped their hearts. Theren the wizard was paralyzed by despair. When he looked through the gaping hole in the wall, he could see that his family’s home, the Vaelthorne Estate, was ablaze. The Church of Lathander had taken its revenge for a dead man’s broken promise.

The heroes fought the daemon with sword and spell, but to little avail. They could not withstand such an awesome foe and would have surely perished, if not for Frost Tooth the druid. Her connection to the natural world proved to be their salvation. Frost Tooth called upon the power of the moon, and a beam of light descended from the sky, showering the shadow daemon with lunar radiance. The Dirgesinger’s voice cried out in pain as the daemon’s shadowy form burned inside the moonbeam. Its immense hand reached down to crush the druid, but in that moment Theren came to his senses and cast a spell of web to entrap the daemon’s hand. While the hand was entangled, Godrik leapt up to thrust his longsword into the daemon’s eye. Having been weakened by the moonbeam, the daemon crumbled into shadowy nothingness. When its enormous form had melted away completely, all that was left was the Dirgesinger, who had been stabbed in the heart by Godrik’s blade.

Godrik caught her as she fell. Though the charm had been broken by Glynn and he felt no love for his foe, he held her in his arms with pity in his heart. 

The heroes would later learn that the Dirgesinger was Tamaer the bard. She was a fellow adventurer who had joined the Flaming Fists, hoping to find her missing friends from the same musical troupe. Several months ago, she and her Flaming Fist companions had uncovered part of the Elturian conspiracy and also destroyed a demonic eversmoking brazier. This brazier was the source of the supernatural darkness which had rained fiendish ashes upon the city, causing people to feel unnatural wrath. But in the course of achieving her quest, Tamaer tragically learned that the old friends she was looking for had abandoned her. 

The sorrow of the revelation consumed her, even as the voices inside her mind began to gnaw at her. Just like Theren and Godrik, she too had signed a fiendish contract with the tiefling Atorius, granting her knowledge of things she should not have known. Yet the voices had only told her a half truth. Her former friends had abandoned not only Tamaer but each other. The musical troupe had disbanded, and each had gone their separate ways, carrying their signature lutes. One became a mercenary for merchants from Amn. Another became a head priest in the Cult of Myrkul. 

The truth may not have mattered to Tamaer, for her heart was full of anger. Whether she was compelled by the ash of the demonic brazier, the fiendish contract she had signed, or the feeling of being abandoned by people she had trusted, Tamaer swore revenge on those who had wronged her. In a short time, she had infiltrated the Cult of Myrkyl and learned the ancient ways of the dirgesinger. Through her research, she found an infernal song to summon a shadow daemon from the Abyss, fueled by the collective rage and despair of the denizens of the city. While corrupt churches were stoking violence to attract fearful parishioners who sought salvation in the light, Tamaer wanted only to exact her revenge against her former friends one by one, even if it meant tearing down the rest of the world.

Now, mortally wounded and cradled in Godrik’s arms, perhaps the anger had finally vanished from Tamaer’s heart and she realized the error of her ways. She whispered her last words.

“They abandoned me… Yet all I ever wanted was to sing together…”

Epilogue

In the months that followed, the truth of the Elturian conspiracy spread throughout Baldur’s Gate, and peace was brokered between the cults of Bane and Bhaal. Though violence was never wholly absent in the city, the rampant and unchecked mayhem had come to an end. The city largely returned to business, but the political rivalry between Baldur’s Gate and Elturel became more hostile than ever. The High Observer of Elturel denied any knowledge of the conspiracy. The people of the two cities viewed each other with increasing bitterness and mistrust.

Having achieved their final quest for the deputy warden of the Seatower, the heroes of the Flaming Fists returned to their own lives, waiting until they were needed once more. Frost Tooth had seen the suffering of local farmers, so she launched a farmer’s cooperative to fight for better conditions at the city market through collective bargaining. Glynn decided to stop living as a wandering bard and settle down in Baldur’s Gate as an entertainer and singer of songs. Theren took a leave of convalescence to recover from the battle with the shadow daemon and tend to the repairs of Vaelthorne Estate. Meanwhile, Godrik continued on his path as a freelance mercenary, and Shaw continued on his local travels to see the wonders of the city.

Tamaer the Dirgesinger was buried at Cliffside Cemetery by the members of her former adventuring party: Celeste, Grimm, Heath, Velan, and Dragu. They had not forgotten her, and they lamented what had become of her.

Glynn often thought back to the events that had brought her own party face to face with the Dirgesinger. The half-elf bard did not tell the others about having met Tamaer long ago in the company of other wandering bards. It had pained Glynn to witness how the songs of hope that Tamaer had sung in the past had darkened into songs of anger and woe. Perhaps the realization that anyone could have succumbed to loneliness and despair finally convinced Glynn to give up wanderlust in exchange for community.

Though a semblance of peace had returned to Baldur’s Gate, the assembly in the High Hall was a battlefield as always. It was just another day in parliament when Durin and Atorius sat in the corner, engaged in a heated conversation of their own. They had found shelter in Atorius’ office during the climactic battle with the shadow daemon, but Durin was not pleased with the damage to his own office. Nor was he happy with the fact that two out of five adventurers had signed fiendish contracts with Atorius, and one of them still carried the Fruit of Time.

Durin protested, “Must you offer your infernal contracts and the chronomancer’s fruit to every adventurer in the city, Atorius!”

The tiefling answered cheerfully, “That is the game we play, Durin my good friend. It is the will of the Great Wheel.”

Durin sighed in defeat. “What do you suppose will become of them?”

“Let us watch and wait. That, too, is part of the game.”

Even as Theren and Godrik went on with their lives, the fiendish voices began to whisper to them. They enticed Theren with visions of a glorious future in which House Vaelthorne would rise again from the ashes, and they invited Godrik to ponder the great things he could achieve with the Fruit of the Delorean Tree.