Romark and Wisp sat in the cold, dimly lit prison, captured and disarmed, unaware of what fate awaited them. Meanwhile, the rest of the AV Club—Tyr, Merla, and Sayah—found themselves in the thick of the encampment, unaware that their comrades had already been taken. As General S.C.A.R.A.’s troops scoured the area for intruders, the trio’s attempt to flee was short-lived. Surrounded by soldiers on high alert, they were swiftly apprehended, stripped of their gear, and locked away alongside Romark and Wisp. But not before Sayah, quick with her hands, managed to swipe two lockpicks from her kit.
Inside the cramped prison cell, with nothing but a Scrying Eye floating outside their cell to watch their every move, the group tried to devise a plan for escape. They settled on an illusion, hoping to trick the Eye long enough for Sayah to pick the lock. But as soon as Wisp began casting the spell, the prison’s defenses reacted—glowing glyphs carved into the ceiling flared to life, casting a soft white light. The counterspell was immediate and thorough, snuffing out any chance of magic taking hold.
Desperate to create a distraction, Tyr took a more brazen approach, attempting to confuse the Eye by acting bold and disrespectful. Meanwhile, Sayah crouched by the lock, trying her best to pick it. But her efforts were in vain—the locks were enchanted, far too complex to open with mere tools. Defeated, the group settled in for the night, resigned to the reality of their imprisonment.
Morning came, and the group was marched through the barracks to an upper chamber. Inside, a long table was set with a variety of food, as if mocking their predicament. Seated in the centre of one long side was a woman, calmly sorting through pages of documents, including those Sayah had stolen from the Waterdeep Thieves Guild. At the far end of the room, General S.C.A.R.A. stood by the window, ever watchful.
Turning to face them, S.C.A.R.A. revealed the extent of his knowledge. He knew each of their names, their backgrounds—everything. With an eerie calm, he revealed that he had probed Romark’s mind and believed the group could be trusted. But there was no room for negotiation. They were offered a choice: help the Netheril infiltrate and dismantle the cult terrorizing the Sword Coast, or face execution as traitors.
Romark, seeking answers to the strange occurrences that had been plaguing them, requested a private word with S.C.A.R.A. The general agreed, communicating telepathically with Romark in the privacy of his mind. It was then that S.C.A.R.A. revealed the truth about Romark’s amulet—it was a mark of Talos, the Storm Lord, and was carried only by high-ranking members of the mysterious cult. The amulet, S.C.A.R.A. explained, could be their key to infiltrating the enemy that Netheril could not see, and was one of the Storm Lord’s chosen champions.
Romark, eager to unravel the secrets tied to his fate, agreed to the mission. But not everyone in the group was as eager to take up the cause. S.C.A.R.A., reading the room, produced a lockbox filled with glittering platinum coins. After offering 10 platinum and a health potion to each member, along with the promise of transport to Waterdeep and one half of a pair of sending stones, the rest of the group reluctantly agreed. The weight of their decision hung in the air, but for now, their path was set.
With their newfound mission, the AV Club took a moment to gather supplies, returning to the market to shop for necessities. There, they reconnected with Nala, who was buzzing with excitement, having spent her evening entertaining and performing for the soldiers and merchants.
Their business complete, the group boarded a wagon bound for Waterdeep, the grand city that awaited them to the north. As the sun began to set, painting the horizon in hues of orange and red, they caught their first glimpse of Waterdeep—the Jewel of the North, the largest city in all of Faerûn.