SATURDAY, MAY 9TH - MASTER AND APPRENTICE CAMPAIGN 1 : SESSION 14 RECAP
Aldor’s Journal : Entry 14
A ”Magical” box and an annoying gnome.
Lets see…where did we leave off….oh yes! The general of the Neverwinter Army, Sabine, walks into the Leviathan. Did i mention the first thing she did was look right at me?
Not generally at me—at me. That sharp, knowing stare like she’d just caught the whisper of a Message cantrip sliding through the air. Then she winked.
So naturally, I vanished into the crowd.
A quick shift of illusion, a different face, different posture, and suddenly I was just another tipsy nobody pressed shoulder‑to‑shoulder with the evening crowd. Sabine, meanwhile, kept working the room like a hunter who’d smelled blood—peering under cowls, scanning faces, not missing a single shadow.
The guards started to reposition. One moved to the front door, stepped outside, then shut it. The other blocked the rear exit. That’s when Sabine drifted over to Harig behind the bar. I watched him gesture helplessly, shrugging and glancing around like a man desperately trying not to get stabbed by authority. Sabine looked… unimpressed.
Ukalis joined the conversation, murmuring something about a “person of interest.” That’s when it clicked. My guess? She saw my hand movements. Clocked the magic. Assumed I was who she was looking for.
After about an hour of pressure and no payoff, we finally filtered out. I gave Cade and Ukalis the signal — this “young drunk” was me—and we staggered away like professionals pretending not to be professionals.
Just in case the guards were watching.
Old Districts Die Hard
We headed toward the ruined Odds and Ends district, checking to see if our friendly neighborhood necromancer was slinking around what used to be our turf. That’s when we noticed it — guards. Everywhere. Castle Never was crawling, and the roads leading back to our old shop weren’t much better.
We pressed on anyway, and nothing of note in our old smoldering home or streets surrounding it. Back to the hideout, and my small traps indicated no one had been there since we were, so sleep was near finally.
Before turning in, I checked in with Melania via sending stone. She filled in the bigger picture—and it was rotten.
Fake heir. Harig implicated. A “transition of power.” Apparently Neverember II’s idea of rulership is putting a puppet on the throne and pulling the strings from behind the curtain.
Then she hit us with the real kicker. The Crown of Neverwinter is or was at least kept in a box. A box that can supposedly summon the crown back to it. Which meant if the heir was fake… maybe the crown would expose him.
Our next stop became obvious…Carion’s Curiosities and Oddities.
Carion’s Curiosities and Other Poor Choices
Carion’s shop sat near the House of Knowledge — Carion’s Curiosities and Oddities. Patchwork signage. Eccentric flair. The kind of place that screams I am either legitimate or very dangerous.
(Spoiler, Turns out its both)
Carion himself was a gnome, cheerful and sharp-eyed. The shop was immaculate—real artifacts, not tourist junk. Curio boxes. A stuffed owlbear. Something that looked suspiciously like a mummified beholder. I circulated quietly, eyes peeled for a box that didn’t belong.
Carion showed Cade something… unpleasant. Flesh-like. A single eye on one end.
Beholder eyestalk? Or something made to look like one.
Naturally, Cade asked — out loud — if Carion had a way to summon the crown.
The temperature dropped.
Carion’s smile vanished.
We were told to leave.
Breaking and loudly entering
We staked out the place. No back entries. One skylight—warded with a glyph. Classic.
When we moved in, the doorknob yelled at me.
Ukalis cast darkvision—welcome to the club—and Cade took point at the door. The moment we advanced, the taxidermied owlbear stood up and took a swing. Ukalis caught it with a perfectly timed Shield, sparks flaring.
The beholder thing pivoted, a form of magic eye we assumed. I tossed a smoke bomb, blotting out its vision, then melted into shadow.
Our attention back to this owlbear construct, Magic missiles slammed home, Shield blocked claws, Cade’s hammer rang out like a dinner bell.
I slid in, drove my rapier deep, and vanished again.
Ukalis followed with Chill Touch — a skeletal hand clawing at incorporeal flesh—but the beast lashed out, dropping Cade hard. I webbed the fake owlbear, dragged Cade to safety, and shoved healing magic into him just in time for Ukalis to end it with a firebolt that ignited the webs and cooked the thing where it stood. No real owlbears were harmed in the making of this almost career ending brawl.
The Box
Behind the curtain lay the back room.
Shelves of junk. One box that mattered.
Mahogany. Plain. Almost insultingly basic.
We took it. Grabbed a journal beside it.
That’s when Carion walked in.
Instead of killing us—or trying—he made us sit. We talked. Negotiated. Swindled, really. If the rightful heir took the throne, we’d pay him 900 gold plus interest within a year.
Shockingly, he agreed.
Back at the hideout, we rested and examined the box. Transportation magic. Preserved. Nigh indestructible.
Melania confirmed it — it was indeed the crown box.
We sent for Cullen. He arrived via teleportation, attuned to the box, and activated it.
Amber light flared. Brightened. Grew blinding.
We opened it.
Empty.
Silence followed. Then swearing.
Melania read the gnome’s journal using Comprehend Languages. Carion had never been able to activate it. Mentioned brass fittings — odd for such a box. And the seller’s name:
Rucas Starfel.
That name hit like a hammer.
Crony of Dergalt Neverember. Royal muscle. Tax collector. Vanished a decade ago after a falling out with the king — fled, imprisoned, or dead. Or… selling a fake box to make something disappear.
Worse still, legend says the crown cannot be removed from an Alagondar’s brow—and anyone else who tries… explodes. So, either the crown was sealed somewhere preventing the magic from working, or less likely but possible, this heir did have the real crown and was somehow a legitimate heir which was keeping the crown from coming to us.
I leaned on Carion again. Earned a little trust. Maybe even a contact we can use. As we left, I spotted someone casing the joint, and they matched Rucas’s description.
I sent a Message — calm, firm, asking for information. He ran of course, so I barked a threat that froze him in place, stepped from the shadows, and smiled.
This is where The Maze’s doors close for now, but we will see you soon!