Skip to content
Scardale
The Capricious lay anchored offshore while Captain Amo was ashore negotiating cargo. Olwë and several of the crew were given shore leave in Scardale.
It was a miserable sort of day for a town built around the sea.
Cold rain fell steadily, mixing with the smell of salt, fish, tar, wet rope, and damp stone. The narrow streets were busy despite the weather, but the town had an uneasy feeling beneath its usual bustle. Scardale was a place where sailors, merchants, fishermen, pirates, and criminals all rubbed shoulders, and everyone seemed to know something that someone else didn’t.
For Olwë, the sea was never merely scenery. It was freedom, fate, religion, and home.
And before the day was over, it would remind him of all four.
The Broken Mast
The crew made their way to the Broken Mast, a weather-beaten tavern that looked as though it had survived considerably more storms than its timbers deserved.
The common room was crowded and alive. Dice rattled across tables. A fiddler competed unsuccessfully with drunken singing. Two sailors argued loudly about whose ship had once outrun a hurricane. Somewhere in the back, a knife game ended with someone losing and everyone else laughing.
Nobody paid much attention when Olwë and the others entered. The sailors settled in, ordered drinks, and began mingling.
There was plenty going on. An elderly sea captain was loudly—and terribly—attempting to sing. The tavern welcomed anyone willing to join in, regardless of talent. Pasre gave it a try and was terrible, but the crowd loved the effort anyway.
Elsewhere, a huge fisherman was running an arm-wrestling contest, collecting bets and promising free drinks to the winner.
It was the sort of place where information came naturally, provided someone was willing to listen. And there was plenty to hear.
People had been disappearing.
Teenagers, mostly.
The authorities weren’t doing anything about it. The Zhentarim denied having anything to do with the disappearances, but nobody in the Broken Mast seemed inclined to believe them.
There were also whispers about the old lighthouse manor. Its occupants had recently changed. Strange crates arrived there at night, but nobody ever seemed to see them leave again. Armed men patrolled the cliffs around the place.
Then a little girl ran into the tavern. She was crying.
“My brother!”
The room seemed to deflate around her.
Nobody was particularly surprised.
Someone muttered, “Not again.”
The girl’s name was Evaleen. Her brother had disappeared while he was working around the stables, feeding horses and doing chores.
She didn’t know where he had gone.
She only knew that someone had taken him.
Eventually, someone told her to report it to the guards.
Evaleen looked frightened.
“But they won’t do anything.”
She was told she had to try anyway, and eventually she left.
Olwë had recognized something in her expression.
It wasn’t simply fear.
It was the look of someone who had realized that nobody was coming to save them.
The same look he had seen before.
The same look he knew himself.
The Warning
When the group left the Broken Mast, they encountered Evaleen again. The conversation turned toward the disappearances, and eventually toward the possibility that the Zhentarim were taking people and selling them as slaves.
That struck Olwë differently from the others.
He had grown up among pirates, but he valued freedom above almost everything. Whenever he saw innocent people being taken, he didn’t see strangers. He saw himself. The decision to investigate the lighthouse was therefore an easy one.
The streets grew quieter as they left the busier parts of town behind. The smell of fish gave way to damp stone. Laundry hung between buildings, and somewhere nearby a dog barked.
Then figures emerged from an alley.
“Thought we’d have a little chat.”
More men appeared behind them.
Their leader was a human sailor named Knuckles Garrick. He had a broken nose, expensive boots, and an almost irritatingly persistent smile.
He didn’t draw his weapon.
“You asked a lot of questions tonight.”
A pause.
“That’s healthy. Means you’re curious.”
Another pause.
“But curiosity gets people drowned around here.”
The warning was clear.
The group could have tried to talk their way out of the confrontation. They could even have offered a substantial bribe.
They chose to fight.
Knuckles and his men were killed.
Before leaving, however, the group learned something useful: the lighthouse was not necessarily what it appeared to be, and approaching it directly would be a mistake.
The Lighthouse
The group followed the road along the shoreline.
Eventually, the road curved away from the water while a smaller path continued beside the coast. On one side, the cliffs rose toward the lighthouse. On the other, the sea stretched away into the darkness.
The tower stood roughly a mile ahead, high above the water.
Rather than approach it in the dark, the group made camp along the cliffs for the night.
The following day they continued along the shore until they reached the base of the tower.
The lighthouse stood roughly one hundred feet above them.
But there was another way in.
Built directly into the cliff face was a stone wall containing a set of doors.
And standing guard before them was a water elemental.
There was no avoiding it.
The fight was difficult.
The elemental proved considerably tougher than expected, and Bridop was knocked unconscious during the battle. Doran and Olwë were both badly battered before the creature was finally defeated.
But the way into the lighthouse complex was open.
The Storage Room
Inside was a straightforward loading and storage area.
At first it appeared to contain nothing more sinister than ordinary supplies—fishing equipment, flour, nails, and other materials that could have been shipped through the coastal facility.
A closer search revealed otherwise.
Among the crates were obvious stolen goods:
- Six bolts of fine dyed cloth
- Three silver candlesticks
- A carved ivory box
- Two bottles of excellent wine
- A small jewelry box containing assorted jewelry
- A silver serving set
- An embroidered cloak
- Another collection of jewelry
The group had found the spoils of someone else’s misfortune.
They also heard movement somewhere beyond one of the doors.
Rather than investigate immediately, they moved on.
The Prisoners
The next area was different.
There were prisoners.
The group could hear them before opening the door—first the sounds of movement and then quiet talking and whimpering.
They also discovered another water creature guarding the area, smaller than the elemental outside.
The group began cautiously investigating.
The elemental attacked.
The ensuing fight drew the attention of the Zhentarim in the adjoining area, who came to investigate.
The fight quickly became a larger confrontation.
The Zhentarim captain carried a respectable amount of wealth and several useful potions, while the other thugs had money and various pieces of stolen property among their belongings.
Eventually, the defenders were killed.
The prisoners were freed.
The group sent them back toward Scardale by the route they had used to reach the lighthouse.
For the moment, at least, some of the people being taken by the Zhentarim were free.
But the operation itself remained.
There was still someone in charge.
The Tower
Beyond the lower rooms was the lighthouse’s enormous staircase.
It wound upward through the tower, extending several stories above ground and deep beneath it. The interior was not hollow; the stairway disappeared around curves in the stone, making it impossible to see very far ahead.
There were doors at several levels.
The group ignored the first.
They kept climbing.
Eventually they reached the overseer’s room.
Overseer Frezink
The room at the top was not what Olwë expected.
It was almost elegant.
There were books, expensive furniture, paintings, wine on the desk, and a collection of strange objects displayed around the room.
Behind the desk sat Overseer Frezink, the man responsible for the Zhentarim operation.
He was neatly dressed. His manner was calm.
Unlike the thugs downstairs, Frezink didn’t immediately react with anger when the group entered.
He simply looked at them.
“You don’t belong here.”
There was an almost businesslike quality to his voice.
“We do not have an appointment.”
Then he looked more closely at Olwë.
“You’re from the Capricious, aren’t you?”
He seemed almost disappointed.
“I was hoping we wouldn’t have any disagreements.”
Frezink had a particular way of looking at the world.
People were commodities.
Problems were transactions.
And morality was simply an inconvenience that other people worried about.
“Some people are cargo. Some people are customers. I simply arrange introductions.”
Then he looked directly at Olwë.
“Everyone serves someone.”
A pause.
“Including you.”
The words were clearly deliberate. Frezink knew exactly what he was saying. And he knew exactly where to put the knife.
The Fight
The conversation didn’t last.
Frezink was a surprisingly capable spellcaster, using magic designed not simply to hurt his enemies but to manipulate them. He attempted to turn the group against itself, using enchantments and deception to make them question who they could trust.
The fight became chaotic. Several difficult saving throws were made. But despite Frezink’s magic and the advantages of fighting in his own headquarters, the group eventually overcame him.
The Zhentarim overseer was defeated.