Piergeiron clutched Eidola protectively to him and looked up toward the Eye of Ao. The crossbow bolt had come from there. In the pupil of the Eye was the frightened, hopeful face of young Noph. The Open Lord’s heart sank. What treachery was this? Noph backed quickly away, turning to flee. “Guards...
The adobe slums around him looked as run-down as he felt. Still no luck. After the fiasco at the Mar funeral, Miltiades and the paladins had headed back toward the palace to get washed and rested. En route, though, Lord Garkim and his guards had caught up to them. Too battle weary to offer resist...
Piergeiron lived. He had returned. He’d risen during his own funeral to tell a tale of such mythic force that two dozen bards were writing ballads, in moments snatched between the leap-dances and reels demanded by the crowds. The very sewers of Waterdeep throbbed to the tread of thousands of ...