Lord Abraxas Silvermane takes his place before Blackstaff Tower. Behind him stand four brave heroes of the city. Above them all, perched on the Tower, is the Ancient Dragon Aurinex, keeping a close eye on the crowd below.
Abraxas clears his throat and turns to the crowd. His voice rumbles, carried by magic to the farthest reaches of the crowd:
“People of Waterdeep, I have come to inform you that our city is safe once more! The Winter Court, the foul order that has stood against us for so long, has been crushed, and their leaders have been slain. Indeed, they had weaved a terrible spell that threatened to destroy us, but the Wardens and myself were able to defeat them at last.”
“In a battle unlike any other, I witnessed firsthand the death of Vyrmagoth, the Dracolich, and her traitorous servants. Dagult Neverember and his brother Dorian are dead, as are their cohorts Osborn Colville and Cassius Marner. And Lord Terrance Somerfort? He is the worst among them by far…For you see, his “father” had not been murdered by Dorian Neverember as they would have you believe. No, the Elder Lord Somerfort used dark magic to fake his own death and masquerade as a younger man–his own son no less! But they are gone, as are the crime families Cassalanter and Falcone.”
“It saddens me to note that Ocasta the Mad was indeed involved in this, and that she was beyond reasoning in such a state of insanity. I can only wish that we remember her as the hero that she was, not the villain dark magic forced her to become.”
“But I’m sure you want to know of the remaining traitors, Portentia and Auspicia Dran! We are hunting them down even now as they flee to Thule, where we’ll have an army of our own waiting for them! And when they are brought to Justice, know that a new age will have dawned at last!”
“We must think of the future, by learning from the past. This is not the last time we will face the wrath of Winter, it comes again across the ocean, and we must be ready for it.”
Abraxas looks over his shoulder.
“And I can only hope that we have such brave and noble people to defend us then.”
Abraxas motions to the four individuals behind him.
“These men here have done the city a great service. They protected Waterdeep without the slightest regard for wealth or power. They did what was right for the city, and that”s all we can do in such uncertain times.”
He approaches the first of the men, withdrawing a small medal.
“Ominifus Hereward Dran, the city thanks you for your service.”
He places the medal around the paladin’s neck.
He moves to the next man.
“James Winifred Darkmagic III, the city thanks you for your service.”
He gifts the wizard a similar medal.
He kneels beside the next man, meeting the halfling’s gaze at eye-level.
“Wilbough Wagons of Lostonshire, the city thanks your for your service.”
And then the final man.
“Jace Ibn Alhazared, the city thanks you for your service.”
Abraxas turns back to the crowd.
“And now, my duties call me away, let us all bask in the glory of this victory, for it is not the victory of one man, or even a group of people, it is our victory. The Victory of Waterdeep. And this victory shall echo across the streams of time, and it will be heard throughout the ages, forevermore!”
“All well and good,” someone shouts from below, huddled in mottled clothing against the unnatural winter, “but what about the Eye?”
People begin to murmur. The crowd is becoming restless.
“That’s right,” another shouts. “Sure, a lot of them fled, but we’ve had goblins in our wares, we have. All marked by the X, ya know. Xanathar’s still got ‘is eyes on us, and he’ll see us starved, he will.”
“Don’t you worry,” Omin Dran says, stepping forward, “for a nominal fee, our interns will brave the undercity and sniff out Xanathar and put an end to his reign of terror once and for all. I just so happen to have a contract drawn up that covers such a need. If I could just get a signature or two from the Masked Lords…”
Wilbough tugs at Abraxas’ robes.
“Maybe we ought to handle it, Lord Silvermane?” he says with a knowing wink. “We’ve time before heading North to meet up with the warlock.”
“Yes,” Abraxas replies, “we ought indeed.”