They were ambushed along the High Road. As Evil approached from the West, they made an unexpected discovery within the Karst Caves. They met a bandit called The Black Spider working for the Cult of the Dragon. Using espionage and deception, they discovered that stolen waters are sweet. Using the cult’s own resources against them, they teleported to the Halls of Justice to report their findings to the Alliance. However, they discovered that the city was under attack, and decided in a moment of panic to escape from Neverwinter. And now, having made a new resolution to help the people of the Sword Coast, they return to the city to find the Alliance safehouse which may hold city officials in need of rescue.
Moving back through the tunnel into the Halls of Justice, the heroes looted the bodies of their fallen compatriots seeking devices or supplies that might help them. They managed to find some useful items. When they finally got to the streets, they found that the fighting was just starting to spill into this district. They kept moving, only entering combat when they absolutely needed to do so. They were going to the safehouse, and could not be distracted from this goal.
Outside the Halls of Justice, they noticed Swordcaptain Muln Horan fighting alongside several Mintarn soldiers against several Dragonclaw cultists. Well known to Abernacky and Fo, Horan is a mighty dwarf warrior who commands the city’s militia. The battle seeemed to be going in his favor, and perhaps he would be able to rally the militia in this area near the Halls.
Swiftly, the group moved from alley to alley towards the safehouse. They saw that people people were seeking shelter in their homes. This section of the city, more than the others, were where the common folk lived, worked, and plied their trades. They passed the general store where they had confronted a group of looters earlier. The human that Adabon had killed was still laying in the street, but now an elderly woman kneeled next to the body, sobbing “My son! My son!”
Moving on, they passed several small groups of villagers being escorted to safety by Mintarn or Callisite soldiers. Although the fighting was spilling into this area, the soldiers still tried their best to protect the people of Neverwinter. You turn another corner, and stop. A group of five mintarn soldiers are fighting with a group of eight orcs. You start to go to their aid, and then are surprised to see a garrolous male halfling join the fary on the side of the militia. He drops from the rooftop, and spouts insults as he fights. As you all turn to move away, you are sure that the halfling will turn the tide for the soldiers.
“This way,” whispered Fo, gesturing down a main thoroughfare. “The safehouse is only a block away.”
As soon as they all entered the road, their stomachs were gripped with fear. Overwhelming,instinctual fear caused by the presence of a dragon. Overhead, a huge green dragon soared towards the East, maniacal laughter dripping from its hideous maw. Suddenly, a lightning struck the underbelly of the beast. It roared in anger, and swooped into the air, hovering there for a moment. The source of the lightning, a blue haired dark skinned female wizard wearing silver robes, stepped into view on the edge of the rooftop.
“Chartilfax!” shouted the woman. “Long have you feasted on the minds of the weak and sick! Long have you remained hidden in the ancient cathedral!” Then the woman floated into the air. “But no longer, Chartilfax!” She raised her hands and they flared with purple fire. “Tonight the Green Traitor will die!” With that, the elf woman released the Dark Fire from her hands, and it streaked out to the green dragon.
The dragon roared, and convulsed as the fire raked across its body. It’s eyes flared golden yellow and it swooped into to strike at the Elf woman with it’s tail. Suddenly a dwarf appeared on the rooftop, lunging into the air to push the Elf out of the way. “Myrin!” the dwarf shouted. “No!” The dragon’s tail came down hard on the heroic dwarf, smashing flesh, slate, and timber.
The dragon began to laugh again, and then stopped only to taunt the wizard who was looking down on her fallen friend. “Who are you, Elf bitch? Who are you that threatens the mighty Chartilfax?!”
At that point they stopped watching and started running. Not because of the dragonfear that was still stirring up fear within they. But becausethey did not want to be in the area when this battle began. They had a safehouse to get to, that was their goal. And because they were somewhat amazed to see the floating Elf slowly assume her true form, a large silver dragon.
“I am Crysanthia,” they heard the silver dragon screech. “And now you die!”
Rushing down the cobblestone road, they finally arrive at the safehouse. They can see that there are flickering lights of candles inside, and that there are definitely people huddled within it. But before they can rush forward towards the front door, they notice two figures on the rooftop. Dragonclaws, of course, crouched there and watching the sky. Obviously something is about to happen. They can all feel it.
Abernacky whispered to his comrades. “We must act now.”
“No,” said Vrae’ree in hushed tones. “Hold for a few more seconds, I have a bad feeling about this…”
Tharivol gripped his sword tighter. “A trap?”
Fo nodded. “Likely. I believe – “
But the monk never got a chance to finish his thought. From the darkness above came the flap of wings. A creature descended from above, landing in the dim light in front of the safehouse. Although its shape is roughly that of a human, it is at least seven feet tall, its skin covered in jet black scales, its fingers bearing wicked claws, and its face has a muzzle and reptilian eyes of a dragon. The creature strode forward a few steps, flexing to draw in its large, leathery bat-like wings.
Six more figures joined the half-dragon. Dressed much like that of the Dragonclaws, these cultists were known as Dragonwings because of their innate ability for limited flight. They touched down near the half-dragon, spreading out in anticipation of raiding the safehouse. One of the Dragonclaws dropped a bad from his shoulder, and the half-dragon pulled the top open. Roughly withdrawing two small children, probably the age of two or three years old, he held the crying toddlers up by their collars at the safehouse.
“Lord Neverember,” shouted the half-dragon. “I am called Sable. Your city is on its knees, but I am feeling generous. Do you see these two pitiful children that I hold in my hands?” He shakes them a little, both children shouting for their Mommy or their Daddy. “They are two useless slaves from the town of Greenest to the South. I have no need for them. Come out now, and I will trade them to you in exchange for your surrender! I know that you were brought here after being grievously wounded in the opening forray of the battle. Come out, or I will kill them!”
Only seconds pass. Then the front door of the safehouse creaks open. A middle aged man with black and white hairstands in the doorway. He looks haggard, obviously wounded as the evil creature claimed. He withdraws a greatsword from the scabbard at his belt, and raises it in front of him. His demaeanor is serious, and speaks with an air of confidence.
“I am Dagault Neverember – Open Lord of Waterdeep and Protector of Neverwinter,” he says. “And I do not surrender.”
And with that, Neverember lunges forward, piercing the half-dragon’s clean through the chest with his greatsword.