Disclaimer:
This fanfic is based off the Neverwinter Nights community module by the name of "A Dance with Rogues" created by Valine. I fell in love with this story and felt compelled to write something that compliments it. This story contains explicit content and graphic violence. All characters except Shiloh, Bastian, Rhys, Nicca, Ni'as, Narev and Essex are property of Valine.
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Revival
Sneaking through the tunnels gave Shiloh a chance to clear her head and focus on the task before her. She had to figure out where the duplicitous priest would keep such an item as the rod in question. She assumed somewhere he could keep an eye on it, since he was aware that it was in demand. She just hoped that he was not lying when he said he had one. Magical lore had never been one of her favorite subjects. She remembered half-heartedly listening to the wizened old man who had tried to teach her about it. And the old priest that had monotonously droned on and on about her immortal soul had been even worse. But from what she recalled they both had agreed that bringing someone back from the dead was indeed possible, if they were willing. It took incredibly powerful magic to do so, but it was possible. Knowing that, she assumed a temple would have access to such an item. Her plan revolved around it. Without that item, she had nothing... well, nothing but a whole lot of gold she'd stolen from the Dhorn.
A chuckle slipped from her throat. She wondered how many heads would roll when they discovered the money and the last accounting ledger was missing? Would the soldiers mount a revolt if they couldn't get paid? She was sure that Master Nathan would approve. She considered sharing a portion of the take with him. Perhaps then the rest of 'The Family' would see her as one of them and not the pretty little princess. A scoff passed her lips.
Don't count on that happening any time soon
, a voice in her head warned.
Once she reached the room Rhys had recuperated in, she crept through its darkened depths. She could tell that they had not discovered this secret chamber as of yet. Where a cheery fire once burned, a cold hearth remained. She made her way through the dark rooms, noting that they seemed to have been cleared out. Father Derthur must have known something was about to happen and had been able to spirit Rhys away. Master Nathan had said that Rhys was now working for him. She wondered how they had disguised the seven foot tall man. He had told her that she wouldn't recognize him.
She found the panel in the closet that led her to what had once been Father Derthur's office. She could easily tell that Father Kheldar had taken over this room. A massive altar stood along one wall. She didn't remember that being there before. This was definitely not to the Hooded One. A large shining greatsword hung along the wall above the altar. She sneaked over to it and examined the sword. She felt odd about touching it.
Quickly she searched the room, opening drawers and rifling through papers, but nothing gave her any clue to where the rod might be. As stealthily as possible, she left the office behind and made her way into the grand chapel. Father Kheldar was not in the room. It made her wonder where he was. It made her ever more cautious.
Leaving the grand hall behind, she headed to the first of three other doors. The door was locked. She quickly dispatched it and slipped inside the room. At first the sickly sweet smell assailed her and she gagged instantly. Holding her breath, she pulled a tindertwig and a torch, lighting it swiftly. She held the torch aloft, she viewed the room and gasped at the implements of torture before her. On the table before her was the body of a man, his arms stretched high above his head. At various places upon his body where knives stuck into the hilt. She guessed they had been put in at pressure points, places where they could extract the most pain.
She stepped closer to him, eyeing the handiwork done by the torturer. A mixture of awe and revulsion swept over her. She knew she should feel sorry for the poor man, but deep down she couldn't. Yet she knew she had to get out of there. She couldn't be caught here. She didn't want to end up on a similar table. Quickly she extinguished the torch and crept back out of the room, locking it behind her. Moving to the next door, she picked the lock and let herself in.
Before her were a set of stairs going downward. She quietly traversed them and found herself at another door. It surprised her that it was unlocked. Her brow furrowed. She stopped and listened, but was met with utter silence. Something didn't seem right. She knew it was be wise to stay hidden as much as possible and keep her wits about her.
She slid the door open wide enough to slip through and shut it behind her. The door hinges had to be well oiled, for no sound came from it what so ever. An eerie white light filtered up from a low altar resting back the rear of the circular room. It seemed warm and inviting, flooding her with instant delight. She headed to it and knelt down, examining the holy edifice before her.
Where the new priests aware of this place? Somehow she didn't think so, but couldn't be sure. She didn't feel the taint of malevolence in this particular chamber as she had in the rest of the temple. Some bastion of goodness still held sway here.
Though she knew it was wrong, she sucked in a deep breath and searched the altar. In a hidden compartment at the base, she pulled out a scroll and a long ornate rod. Small symbols were carved on each side, but she wasn't sure what they meant. She tucked both into her haversack, continuing her search.
On the back side she found an identical hidden slot and from within she pulled a small book and a finely crafted bejeweled blade. Stowing them away with her other finds, she moved away. And when further search of the room yielded nothing more than cobwebs, she exited it and headed back into the grand hall.
As she sneaked around the perimeter of the large chapel, she could hear stern voices coming from Father Kheldar's office. She had to know what was going on. Creeping over to the door, she slipped through the partially open portal and melted into the shadows. She crouched behind a flowery plant, listening intently to the priest and the three highly ranked Dhorn officers.
"And why would you think a grieving widow is suspicious?" One of the officers enquired.
"If you had seen her, you would understand. What grieving widow wears bright red? And she couldn't have been more than 18 years old, even with all the make-up on her face. Something just didn't sit right. She looked so damn familiar, too. I know I've seen her before."
"Did you ask for a name?" The second of the officers asked as he set his helm on the desk."
"Of course, do you think I arose to this position being stupid?" Kheldar retorted as he lifted a cigar to his lips and lit it.
"And?"
