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After

The party returns to Neverwinter easily enough with the stones. Neither Gene nor Jon Jon really have the spellcraft to question it, but six people is in fact totally within the limit of a single Word of Recall. Because it is the limit.

(But if they did find someone else to question it, they might be a little concerned that either a ninth-level casting likely went into creating these, or Captain Deathcleric Sergol is somehow pre-casting a sixth-level spell on them every time they go out, and then has some folks watching them all, all the time, using the stones as... a scrying target? To know when to trigger it. Isn't that odd? That's a little odd.)

So they get back. Everyone is suitably relieved, exhausted, practically ready to collapse. The two traitors (?) are taken into custody. Jon Jon actually tries to object - Desther's confessed to such, but Fenthick... very much seems to have been duped. They were all duped. But he doesn't really get very far. Everything moves along too quickly. The priests just want the cure, and to know what even happened, but mostly the cure. Nasher is suitably angry, wants justice, wants to get onto the next thing, resolve the matter. Aribeth flat out disappears in all this. Gene, exhausted as he is, makes a point that nobody forget his role in all this.

They manage to tell some of the story, but the debriefing - the proper one - is still a total mess. Too much excitement. Too much confusion. It's like 4am. Now that it's all basically over, people are exhausted. Has anyone really even slept since they'd left?

Once the whole 'yeah the fake Helmites were spreading the plague, we probably got it too' thing is properly explained, the cure is brought back and applied - to them, to everyone around - before being shuffled off once more to some priests to sort out the logistics of distribution and crap through a whole city.

Jon Jon pretty much stops talking entirely around this point, forcing Gene to tell most of rest of the story on his own. Questions are asked, and answered. Jokes are made, most of which don't really have all the context to make sense, but people still laugh for some reason, a little too hard.

Finally it's over. Gene finally gets his reward. Jon Jon leaves before he can claim his share, forcing Gene to take that too. To get it to him, of course. Obviously.

The next day there's a public announcement. Ostensibly it's to inspire the people and give them their heroes to thank, but it's basically a rally, using the event to dispense the cure to as many people en mass as possible while also maybe calming everyone down a bit. Nasher and Aribeth give speeches. The heroes of the hour are presented: Jon Jon needs to be recovered and physically steered onto the stage, the quarter-full bottle of bottom-grade wine snatched out of his hand at the last moment, whereas Gene is perfectly happy to show up on his own, just doesn't quite know what to do or say once there. He grins. He waves. He smacks himself after for not giving a sales pitch, or something. Anything, really.

Sharwyn does a much better job of taking the hero poses, even says something pithy, but she's there for the glory, not the pitch.

Linu trips over something and things go slightly uphill from there, literally. The bottle of wine winds up broken on Lord Nasher's ceremonial armour. Linu winds up entangled in some banners. Jon Jon fishes her out and tries to use it as an excuse to leave, but it doesn't work. He thanks her for trying, or at least tries to.

And then it's over shortly after regardless. Life goes on. Punishing the villains can come later, once they actually have some answers, but the citizens of Neverwinter are assured that the villains are in custody and will be punished, soon.

At least, that's the idea. The assurances don't really seem to resonate. Soon isn't soon enough. The citizenry want more, they want their lives back, they want... more.

Answers are few and far between.

Gene checks in on the investigation a few days later, though he's really mostly checking in to see if there's more work. Finds an utter lack of progress, in terms of the prisoners. Desther has just been completely uncooperative, and all attempts to magically divine or compel answers out of him have likewise failed. Blocked, the priests say. Something powerful is behind this. The Cloaktower mages say the same, in different words.

Fenthick, it turns out, really didn't know anything. A broken man, he tells them everything, except everything contradicts at times. He's not sure what was what, where he went wrong, where everything went wrong. He doesn't know what all he did - did he do that? Or did he just suggest it, go along with it? Defend it? He didn't do that, did he? Unless he did. Considered it? Maybe. He doesn't know. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to do anything, face anything.

It's too uncomfortable. Nobody wants to be around that, least of all the other priests. Least of all Aribeth. She can't seem to face it either.

The trial

A week or two passes. Other leads are unearthed.

The trial is scheduled, announced. The citizenry have been given their heroes (love them), now it's time to give them their villains (hate them). There was hesitation to have it open, under the circumstances, though it is the custom, but word has basically already gotten out what happened (a dozen conflicting words, at that) such that there really isn't anything to lose at this point.

They have Gene and Jon Jon and the others come in a few times in the days leading up to it to discuss a few things, and even now it's becoming a bit clear the whole thing is just show. It's not entirely clear that this matters.

They do their best to clarify things, regardless. To explain what happened. To fill in the gaps as they know it. To get paid, perhaps, for this effort too.

Then another thing comes up - there's a slight issue as to who should be leading the prosecution in the trial itself. Who will speak for Neverwinter? Who will press the charges? Nasher, lord of the city, already has another role. Aribeth is still off balance, though ready to back whoever. Fenthick, who might normally have had this role, was involved in the very matter they're settling. Others who might have been the logical choices even before him were but a small number of the very victims of the plague this is all about.

Aribeth asks Gene and Jon Jon to take on this responsibility.

"Sorry, what?" asks Gene.

"We would like you to lead the prosecution," Aribeth says. "To make the case for --"

"I'm... fourteen. And a rogue. And an adventurer. You see these books?" Gene pulls open a bag and shows her a whole bunch of jumbled up books. "I've read like one page out of each of them, tops. That's it. I'm no scholar, and I wouldn't know the law if it bit me in my --"

"Yes, well, alright" one of the priests interrupts him hastily, and turns to Jon Jon. "What about you?"

"Uh," Jon Jon says. "Yeah. No."

"Please, Jon Jon," Aribeth says. "You were there for much of this. You recovered the Whaterdhavian creatures. You saw the damage first hand, the false blessings, the ritual itself. You were the ones who hurried into the portal to pursue the thieves and brought them back for justice! There is nobody who knows the facts of this case better than the two of you, and you have the confidence and experience to see this through."

Jon Jon just shakes his head and refuses to explain. He's still wearing his helmet, even now, so there isn't an expression to read, just the tired, wobbly posture of someone very hungover.

Aribeth gives him a strange look, but lets the matter go.

Gene says, later, as they leave, before they part ways once more, "You would have made a pretty good prosecutor, you know. The paladin's not wrong."

Jon Jon just mutters something about having lost that right a long time ago.

And then it happens. They have the trial, the theatre, the show. The whole city is already in such turmoil at this point that it's decided a good show is just the thing. So a show it truly is, played up in every way, all out. They assemble in order. The players are announced. Each stage is documented, reported, followed closely.

The heroes are there, as witnesses, as audience (Jon Jon having been recovered from some nearby gutter for the occasion, Gene just being told, look, show up and speak the truth and we'll pay you for your time, okay?). The accused are there, Desther and two others of the false Helmites they'd managed to capture, bound and guarded. Fenthick, not strictly speaking behind any of it, isn't being tried at this point, but he, too is there, with a guard of his own. For now, he is simply another witness.

Lord Nasher Alagondar presides. As the head of the city, and a devout Tyrran himself, he shall make the final judgement under the law, but the Reverend Judge Oleff Uskar, Lord Justiciar of Tyr, must still back it, and runs the show until then, the referee.

Lady Aribeth represents Neverwinter, the prosecution, backed by a small team of clergy.

Nobody stands for the defence, not that Desther seems to want it. The other two just seem confused, as if unsure what's even going on.

So the court assembles: Lord Nasher and the Reverend Judge Oleff at the head, Lady Aribeth and her team to the left, Desther and two random lackeys at the right. A pile of witnesses behind the lot of them, and audience, so much audience, there, in and around, filling the galleries of the castle hall, crowding outside in the courtyards, filling the city squares as the criers relay the progress. Neverwinter's very own Dibblers wander through the watching crowds, resurfaced as something much less shady now that the plague is over, selling snacks and refreshments.

They play up the drama. Introductions are made, charges announced (How do they plead? Snide comments.), precedence cited. The floor is passed off to the prosecution.

Aribeth calls in a historian to present each piece of evidence as a story each to each, this and this and this. Here's what it was, here's how it was recovered, here's where we found it, but they never quite get to the significance yet. Interest is piqued, and then it's onto the next.

Then the witnesses are called. They tell the story, laying it out in order, each question bringing the narrative all a little more together, raising more questions for the next witnesses, closing up others from the previous, explaining the evidence.

After each, the accused is given an opportunity to cross-examine. Sometimes, Desther actually does. He pokes some holes in people's stories, mocks them, makes them question things, usually nothing to even do with the charges.

Gene is used as the main witness to wrap it all up, walking them all through everything that happened since the creatures first escaped, through each stage of the recovery, through the clues dropped, to the theft. Through the recovery, the storming of Helm's Hold, the discovery of the true depths of Desther's depravity. The restoration of the guardian spirit, the defeat of his remaining followers, and finally of Desther himself. The questions guide the story, skip past some parts, dramaticise others.

Jon Jon is called up next. Is asked, "You accompanied Gene on all this. Can you confirm this is what happened?"

Replies, "Yes."

Desther says, smugly, "Didn't I overhear you saying that the Helmites in Neverwinter were behind this plague weeks ago?"

Jon Jon points his helmet at Desther and says nothing.

"Think of all the lives you could have saved if you'd done something, anything. Poor Fenthick might not be locked in here with me. Lady Aribeth might not look like a complete fool, trusting us noble Helmites to cure the very plague that we were spreading. Lord Nasher --"

Jon Jon interrupts, "I was wrong."

Desther smiles triumphantly, then looks around the hall. "You were all wrong."

Jon Jon says, "You're not helmets. You slaughtered them. You profaned their priesthood, their temples, the very name of Helm. You took the faith of innocents, and betrayed it, you took the bodies of the dead, and desecrated them, you bound demons and did... things. You are wrong." He's almost shaking by the end of this.

Desther laughs, and when Jon Jon seems to be finished, mock-applauds the speech. Mouths, "Definitely not helmets".

"If there was any justice in all of this," Jon Jon goes on, having actually caught his breath, "it's that in the end, you were betrayed as well. You betrayed Neverwinter and all of Helm's Hold, but when we found you, you were the one who was alone, surrounded only by the dead, the risen all that would still follow you."

Desther's face falls a little when reminded of his being abandoned, but he recovers quickly. "I am content", he says, forcing himself to stand a bit more upright. "I played my part. Soon you will see their glory for yourself, and then you will know that we are victorious."

"Enough," Oleff says. "Do you have any questions for the witness, or shall we move on?"

"I'm curious," Desther asks, "How did you know that we were working against you? I thought the paladin would work it out before the fighter did."

"The priests," Jon Jon says, and pauses. "On the streets. They seemed normal enough at first. But when I talked to them, it wasn't right. They didn't answer with the conviction of the faithful. And their blessings were not the blessings I..." He just stops. Shakes his head. "They weren't right. Nor you. You seemed so dismissive of everything we found. Every piece of evidence we brought back." He doesn't mention the eye thing. That actually did turn out to just be a coincidence.

"That's pretty insightful for a fighter," muses Desther. "Just how is it that you might know so much about the priesthood?"

Jon Jon doesn't reply.

"Surely it couldn't be that you've had training," Desther goes on. "That you were a member of the clergy yourself, a holy warrior? You didn't lose your faith, did you? You didn't fall, did you?"

Jon Jon turns to Oleff. Asks, "Is this considered relevant?"

"No," Oleff replies. "For the last time, the witnesses' prior history is not the subject of this inquiry. Unless the defense has any further questions of relevance..."

Desther rolls his eyes.

"...you may go," Oleff finishes, to Jon Jon.

Jon Jon turns to leave.

"It's not relevant at all that the star witness might be a fallen paladin?" Desther asks. "Did he lie, perhaps? Make up stories about innocent helmets? A grave injustice might be perpetrated here, Reverend Judge."

Murmurs break out in response to this.

"At least I haven't fallen as hard as you," Jon Jon retorts angrily. "You've been such a great reminder of all the real darkness in the world."

Desther gasps, fake-astonished. "It's true?!"

Jon Jon snarls something unintelligible (possibly recommending coitus with a cactus) and shuffles off back toward the audience, amidst various murmurs.

"So, a fallen paladin and a boy whose balls haven't yet fallen. Such wonderful witnesses for the state. I've seen better witnesses at a celebration of Sharess, and more convincing prosecutions in Luskan."

The audience, meanwhile, breaks out in objections and shouts as people hurl back their own insults, chattering loudly amongst themselves.

"Silence!" Oleff shouts, but next to the din people barely hear it, so he raises a hand, instead, and just casts silence on the audience.

It's a bit ghastly, really. "Enough," Oleff says, his voice almost deafening by comparison. "We will have order in the court."

He releases the spell, and everyone, this time, mostly stays quiet.

Jon Jon plonks down next to Gene.

"Nice insult," Gene tells him quietly.

"I need a drink," Jon Jon replies.

The trial moves on. Aribeth is done with her witnesses, so Desther gets his turn.

He starts with Lord Nasher, who, after a brief exchange with Oleff, obliges.

It doesn't really go anywhere. The Lord Moustache turns out to be very good at glaring, and gives rather concise, dismissive responses that move everything right along, not that Desther has a whole lot to work with here to begin with. Little comes of it.

Desther then calls Aribeth. Asks, "You really didn't figure it out until I told you I was betraying you, did you?"

Aribeth responds with an odd certainty, probably really milking her paladin charisma for all it's worth. "We knew someone on the inside was working against us when Neverwinter Academy was attacked," she states. "Investigations were in progress, but were hampered by the total breakdown of our city following the theft of the Waterdhavian creatures. If you hadn't been at the final ceremony, you might have very easily escaped our notice entirely, for our focus was on the salvation of Neverwinter, not on an unidentified threat that may or may not have still been in play."

"So you had no idea at all," Desther says. "All your investigators and paladins and guards, and the only ones who got anywhere at all were a deranged drunk and his boy wonder. How embarrassing. How can the people of Neverwinter possibly expect you to keep them safe?"

The crowd murmurs, angered, but there's also a worried stir amidst the grumbling.

"And of course there's the little issue of my co-conspirator, my staunchest defender, your beloved Fenthick. Are you still sharing a bed with the betrayer of your city, my lady?"

A flash of anger crosses Aribeth's face, and there's a momentary pause as she recomposes herself. "Fenthick Moss is not the one on trial here," she responds carefully. "We are here to bring to light the guilt or innocence of one man - you - charged with the deception and betrayal of all of Neverwinter. Not just the court and the church and all of those who serve the people, but every citizen of every quarter of Neverwinter whose trust you took advantage of. Every person who has lost something. Their families, their lives, their homes. Their hopes, their livelihoods. Their very faith.

"This is what we are here to prove," she goes on, "that it was your actions that were responsible for causing and prolonging all this suffering, and in the name of Tyr, we will see justice done."

"My, you give me such credit," Desther sneers. "None of this was Fenthick's fault, helping me every step of the way? None of this was yours, for putting me exactly where I needed to be while you distracted yourself with your little playthings. Was the recovery of your lost magical creatures so much more important to you than saving your city? Did you even step foot outside your temple to see what I was actually doing in your streets?"

Aribeth responds, "But you answer yourself. In your defense, you place yourself at the middle of all of us. Rather than deny your own guilt, you try to deflect only by making it once more all about you. You are the center, and so it is you who are here to answer for it."

Desther practically beams. Says, "And if I and my handful of Helmites were the center of what brought this city to its knees so quickly, my Lady, you have to wonder what the future holds for your dear city." He turns toward the audience, and indicates Aribeth and those presiding over the trial. "If you Neverwinterians have any sense, you would hang the lot of them and find someone better to protect you."

Oleff and the crowd both erupt in anger at this, but it's Nasher who stands and steps forward.

"Silence!" Nasher booms. "For justice' sake, Desther, you have been granted a fair trial, but I will not tolerate further threats to this city. I have heard more than enough from you to reach a decision already, unless..." He glances to Oleff.

Oleff takes the signal. "Our patience wears thin at this grandstanding," Oleff says. "The court will allow you one last witness if you wish to make some case for your..." he trails off, gives Nasher an uncertain look. Finally manages to finish, "Innocence." He nods to Aribeth, and goes on, "Once she finishes, please. Make it count."

"I have no further statement," Aribeth says, and returns to her usual position.

"Oh, what's the use," Desther says. "We all know that this show trial is only to sate the bloodlust of our beloved Lord Nasher. Look how hungry he looks!" He flourishes, for emphasis, as he goes on, "Well, the lamb is ready for the slaughter, and all I ask is you make it quick."

The execution

They don't.

As with many places, treason in Neverwinter is considered among the worst of crimes, receiving among the worst of punishments.

Fire is involved for the final execution, along with some drawing and other stuff to lead up to it. They finish off by quartering the remains, for reasons. (Possibly to avoid any potential complications relating to the possibility of the dead rising, given the setting, though this might be giving them a little too much credit.)

The second trial

It's not good enough. As much as it seems to settle people down at first, the court of public opinion soon makes its own determination: that it wasn't just Desther and a cult of false Helmites, but the very governance of the city charged to protect them that is responsible. Someone has to pay, and if it isn't one of them, it can only be all of them.

So governance looks to find a scapegoat. They look to find a sacrifice, helped along by a quick series of hearings conducted by a particularly bureaucratic noble by the name of Lord Halfax. How he got into the position to do this, nobody is really quite sure, but with stakes like these it's almost welcomed: he's thorough. He's deliberate. Almost exclusively, he speaks through his nose.

He goes through the lot of them: everyone at every stage of governance throughout the crisis, everyone of any power in the temple, even many of their hirelings. Gene and Jon Jon are called in, along with several other adventurers. But quickly it is narrowed down. Quickly Lord Halfax arrives at exactly the popular conclusion: Fenthick Moss is the heart of it. Fenthick Moss is the one who had failed most utterly.

Just for the show of it, having found their guy, they hold another trial. (These people are possibly slightly obsessed with this sort of thing. Just go with it.)

It's almost the same setup as the first. Like the last trial, Lord Nashar presides, the Reverend Judge Oleff Uskar at one side, and now, the Lady Aribeth de Tylmerande at his other.

Lord Halfax prosecutes now, because this is his show.

Fenthick, represented by assigned council, stands and accepts his fate. Lets the trial determine the course.

But of course he does. He's already gone through all this regardless. It's all already been established regardless. The hearings played it all out, and they found every point, every charge, narrowed down, honed in upon. This? It's just the presentation. The public version.

Aribeth is conflicted, of course. She doesn't want this to be how it goes. But 'duty' is the word of the hour, and they're all sticking to it, internally, quiet conversations had, decisions made. So she stands beside her lord, and lets it all happen.

They all let it all happen.

The trial happens. They take their places. Oleff opens, Halfax presents the charges: negligence, largely, as a warden of the city, to the point of breaking his oaths in entirety. Gross incompetence. Various miscellaneous injustices perpetrated during the failure to carry out their duties, including looking the other way at so many things their hirelings had done.

It's all been decided. It's all been decided. This is just the presentation...

Statements are given. Witnesses are called. Halfax cites from the juiciest details of Fenthick's own notes and records, and, at times, Aribeth's. So much detail in the reporting of the Tyrran clergy, not to mention the added records from all the city's bureaucracy itself, and he puts it all to use, nitpicking at every decision, every allocation, every clear mistake leading up to each incident: the arrival of and immediate acceptance of the false Helmites; the call for heroes; the attack on the academy and the release of the creatures. The theft at the ritual's completion. The total failure of the investigation itself, and the lack of followup on every piece of evidence that had been recovered.

How very neatly Desther had inserted himself into the investigation, to guide it so thoroughly. How very utterly Fenthick had failed to take any real charge of it himself, or even realise what was happening.

How very unfortunate that he had trusted Desther over everyone else. His superiors. His brothers at the temple. His very lover.

Fenthick hangs his head, hangs his head. His council makes some points: that all this happened, but the fault wasn't with Fenthick, but simply the city itself, with Desther, and the others. That Fenthick hadn't had the support, had been up against far too much. Sure, he did all this, failed all this, but it was everyone else who'd failed him, really. It wasn't his fault.

It's a flimsy argument and they all know it. But it drums up some pity. It emphasises the point. It's true.

Halfax brings it around. Fenthick didn't have the support. He could have. He could have had more. There had been opportunities, opportunities to ask, opportunities to act, opportunities to report. He didn't take them. He didn't take any of them. Every citizen should be taking such opportunities to report, as is their duty.

Ultimately, Fenthick was the one who failed.

From her place at Lord Nasher's side, Aribeth watches, listens. She stands, impassive.

It has been decided. It is her duty.

Jon Jon, too, watches, listens. Wants to object, doesn't know how to.

Gene has already left, for why would he stay past his original statement? This trial is even more tedious than the last, and has even less to do with him.

Jon Jon is called once again to the stand.

"Jon Jon Wendt," Lord Halfax says. "You previously stated you were working for Lady Aribeth, but sometimes reported to Fenthick as well."

Jon Jon doesn't answer.

"Specifically," Lord Halfax goes on, "with regard to the investigation into the perpetrators behind the Wailing Death and the sabotage of attempts to formulate a cure." He again pauses for a moment, but then continues, "Can you tell the court precisely what you reported?"

"Not sure," Jon Jon says. "Someone kept sending assassins after us, so we forwarded whatever we found on them back to Fenthick."

"Who exactly were the assassins sent after?" Halfax asks.

Jon Jon shrugs. "Went after Gene at least once. Came at me a couple of times when I headed back to an area after we'd made some progress or recovered the thing."

"You're saying the assassins were sent only after you'd reported progress?" Lord Halfax asks. "Who did you report to?"

Jon Jon shrugs again. "Aribeth, probably? Maybe Oleff?"

Oleff clears his throat.

"The court would ask that you please address those involved by their proper titles," Aribeth cuts in.

"Sorry, milady," Jon Jon says. "Uh, high judge... Oleff? Lord... thing."

Oleff just sighs.

Halfax switches tracks. "But after you were assaulted," he says, "You reported to Fenthick, numerous times. Did you speak with him about anything else?"

"I dunno, maybe," Jon Jon says.

"In his own testimony, Fenthick referred to you as one of his friends whom he had let down," Halfax states. "Would you dispute this claim?"

"Er..." Jon Jon says. "I guess? I mean, he didn't let me down. He..." he pauses, thinking.

"Yes?" Halfax prompts.

"He did what he thought was right," Jon Jon explains. "He looked for the best in people, and when he turned out to be wrong, he didn't try to hide it. That's more noble than... than some might have been."

Lord Halfax nods. "He had reason to trust you. He confided in you, didn't he?" Halfax pauses for a moment before he gets to his actual point, "Please, tell the court what Fenthick did for Desther in preparation for the ritual to create the cure, shortly before it was stolen."

"He, er... did something, yes," Jon Jon says.

"What did he do?" Lord Halfax presses.

There's a long, awkward pause.

Jon Jon looks around uncertainly. "Yeah, uh," he replies finally, "I don't... actually remember?"

Halfax takes a deep breath, and proceeds calmly, "Here's what you said in your statement. You testified that Fenthick admitted that he had given Desther a key to the castle's defenses, allowing him to sneak in and out. He also used his position to encourage the City Watch and other organizations to provide Desther with as much support as possible; in fact, according to you, he claimed that he had been forced to work behind the backs of his own colleagues to support Desther on a number of occasions. Finally, on the day of the trial --"

Probably around this point, the defense council objects, but after a bit of back and forth they do establish that this is all at least basically accurate, to Jon Jon's understanding.

"And how is it that you came to this understanding, again?" Lord Halfax asks.

"He told me," Jon Jon says.

"And did he tell anyone else, to your knowledge?" Halfax goes on.

"He said he... couldn't," Jon Jon replies. "That Aribeth wouldn't understand, the others would never allow what he and Desther were doing."

"So he knew that what he was doing would be disapproved of by his superiors, but he did it anyway. Does that sound like someone who was so overwhelmed that he couldn't bring himself to admit a problem? Or does it sound like someone who was wilfully, enthusiastically, supporting an enemy of this city that everybody he knew disapproved of?"

Lord Halfax doesn't give anyone a chance to respond to this, and simply continues, "One final question, Jon Jon. When Fenthick was boasting to you about how he had encouraged the people of this city to welcome Desther's 'help', how far away was Lady Aribeth at this point?"

"In the next room. Tending to the ill," Jon Jon replies, rather unhappily.

Halfax nods, thanks him. Reiterates the point, that Desther had had every opportunity to come forward, that he had known what he was doing was wrong. That the others had been right there, but that the only one he confided in was someone outside the organisation entirely, someone with neither the responsibility nor, likely, even the access, to act on any of it.

Halfax passes the stick to the defense.

The defense council tries. Asks some questions that do put a bit more of a favourable light on it, for Jon Jon is more than happy to clarify the apparent intent, that Fenthick had not been an intentional accomplice, merely wanted to do everything to help with a terrible situation, even stated as much on several times... but it doesn't change what he did.

And then it's onto the next matter. Lord Halfax calls a new set of witnesses: Aribeth, Nasher, several others involved with the ritual itself and the security of the castle. Asks about what Fenthick had done, in practice. Asks the significance of it: the key to the wards, the presence of the witnesses. How Desther had come to be there at all.

Establishes, clearly, that the only reason Desther had even been there was that Fenthick insisted, brought him in, didn't tell people. The only reason Desther had been able to escape as he did was that Fenthick had given him his own keys to the castle's magical defenses, knowing full well that none of the others would have allowed this.

The defense makes the case that it had not been intentional. Fenthick had not realised what he was doing. The rest of those involved has not payed particular attention either, had not pressed the matter, and simply allowed Desther's presence when it happened.

But it's clear: it was specifically Fenthick's actions that had led to this. At every stage, Fenthick had been the one to allow it first. Fenthick had advocated for it. Fenthick turned a blind eye. Fenthick paved the way.

Fenthick had told no one, except one man in no position to do anything about any of it, too late to even try.

So it goes. So it ends.

Points made, Halfax cedes the floor.

The defense just folds. The council makes a hopeless effort, reading off his arguments, trying to get in something, but there's simply not a whole lot to be said. He stumbles over the words. He glosses through it. Everyone just waits for it to be over.

And then suddenly it is. Oleff says some words. Nasher calls the verdict.

"Fenthick Moss," Lord Nasher decrees, "by the letter of the law, you are found to have been negligent of your oaths and your duties. You have failed your city and your gods, and for this you will be put to death by hanging."

Fenthick doesn't respond. Hangs his head, hangs his head.

Aribeth looks away.

Jon Jon objects, loudly, but is drowned out as the audience bursts into cheers and shouts to make the punishment worse.

This doesn't stop him. Jon Jon hurries forward, instead, to accost Lord Nasher and the others directly, and the guards, holding back some more enthusiastic members of the rest of the audience, simply let him through.

Jon Jon gets to them as they're all basically leaving. He tries to object right there, but they just sort of take him with them, instead, even as Fenthick is removed out another door entirely.

Appeal, sort of

They wind up headed for some random room to handle some administrivia or something, Oleff humming oddly merrily, Aribeth finally just giving up and no longer bothering to hold back her tears, several random other folks slightly less impacted by the whole thing leading the way.

Most of the others go in, while Lord Nasher turns to talk to Jon Jon outside and Aribeth just makes a half-formed excuse and leaves.

"It's good to see you again, Jon Jon," Nasher tells him. "You've been so patient with our courts after all the work you did for us, but hopefully you had a chance to see justice done today and those who wronged this city finally brought to account."

"No," Jon Jon says, "this isn't justice."

Nasher blinks. "Oh?" he says.

"Er," Jon Jon says quickly, "I mean no disrespect, but I... will you hear me out?"

"You want to appeal the verdict?" Nasher asks.

"Not the verdict," Jon Jon replies, and scrambles to come up with some appropriate way of wording it all. What he winds up with is probably phrased straight out of scripture: "The truth has come to light. I disagree with the sentence in light of that truth."

Jon Jon winces under his helmet. (This might actually be visible to some extent.)

Nasher just takes it in stride. Says, "The punishment seems harsh to you."

Jon Jon nods. "With Desther, it was clear. It was a question of bringing the truth to light and punishing the wicked, which he undoubtedly was. But Fenthick is different," he goes on. "His responsibility here is that he was deceived by someone wicked. Yes, in so doing he failed his city, he failed you, he failed his church and his god, but it wasn't treachery or malice on his part that led him to this, but mistakes, made in good faith. Mistakes anyone could have made."

"Fenthick's mistakes put all of Neverwinter at the mercy of Desther's cult," Nasher counters. "Intentional or not, his actions resulted in the deaths of hundreds, and caused hundreds of thousands of gold worth of damage to the city. To turn a blind eye to this would set a terrible precedent when it is of the utmost importance that every citizen be on guard to not make such mistakes, let alone if they're in any position to do so real of harm."

"What of the precedent set by denying any chance at redemption?" Jon Jon asks. "We send him to his final judgement, and it's over, no chance to ever learn better. People will fear for their lives not to make any mistake."

Nasher gives him a level look. Says, "You don't think people should be afraid of making mistakes like these?"

"Er," Jon Jon says. "I... don't know. It still seems wrong?"

Nasher looks at Jon Jon sympathetically. "I understand. It's never easy to see someone you know being punished like this," he says. "That's why the decision is my responsibility."

Jon Jon nods, or maybe shakes his head, or something. "Sorry," he says. "But... thank you for... I need to think on this."

Nasher claps him on the shoulder. Perhaps mentions some other things, since he's there. Talk, plan a bit, part ways.

Nasher heads into the room.

Jon Jon goes to think, and to drink.

(Maybe pray?)

That's the problem, though. He's not a paladin. He has no place in the church, no place amongst the faithful. All that he lost a long time ago, and replaced with pubs and booze. He goes. Drinks. Laments. In the anonymity of communal alcoholism, there is rarely absolution to be found, but sometimes there is a respite.

Sometimes.

Not tonight. Tonight he just blacks out.

Morning comes, finds him still half-passed out in someone's basement, a broken ritual circle on the floor, books and boxes and reagents and offerings inexpertly scattered about. Two other figures are collapsed on the other side of the room, and several bottles piled up nearby.

Jon Jon sits up uncertainly, as he looks around, takes it in. Rubs his eyes, and winces at the insistent throbbing of his head. It's too early. Too late. Everything hurts, and nothing makes sense.

It's as usual, really.

(It should perhaps be noted that Jon Jon is in fact not wearing his helmet. Is this as usual for such a situation? Who knows.)

"Oh, at last, one of you awakens," someone says. "I thought I'd be waiting here for an eternity."

Jon Jon turns to find himself staring up at a guy who is almost, but not entirely, exactly out of the ordinary. His clothes, though well-cut, aren't really a style he's ever seen. His face, though well-groomed, is just a tad too pointy to be normal. His skin is just a lovely shade of bright red.

A devil.

Jon Jon stares.

The devil beams at him.

"What..." Jon Jon says. Looks around again. Takes in pretty much the exact same details as before. Someone's basement. Failed ritual, some sort of summoning. Lots of wine bottles everywhere. The other two folks just completely passed out on the other side.

Looks back to the devil, to the guy's feet. He's standing in another circle, this one smaller, more precise. Oddly familiar.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't even remember summoning me..." the devil says. "Really, you humans, you're so unreliable."

"I..." Jon Jon scrambles away. "No, I didn't..." Stops. Nearly falls over, braces himself on a furniture or something.

"Oh, yes," the devil says. "And let me tell you, never was I happier to answer a summons... until I actually saw you. I don't think I've ever seen someone go from perfect incantations to tripping and hitting his head so quickly."

Jon Jon blinks. Rubs his head again. "I hit my head?" he asks. Because that... actually would explain it, a bit.

The devil shrugs.

"What about them?" Jon Jon asks, indicating the other two figures.

"Oh, they were trying to summon someone a little more specific," the devil says cheerily. "Not doing a very good job of it, either. Never would have gotten anywhere, but you did say something about showing them up, before you had your unfortunate accident. Did I mention how nicely you did?" The devil shrugs again. "I tried to give them a hand, but it turns out they're no better at following directions than holding their liquor."

"Uh-huh," Jon Jon says. He swipes a bottle still a third full off a haphazard pile of books, and takes a long drink, never quite taking his eyes off the devil, or the rest of the room.

"Oh, you are perfect," the devil practically swoons.

Jon Jon gives up. Closes his eyes. Counts to ten.

Opens his eyes to find pretty much everything exactly as it was. "Surreal," he mutters.

"Oh, that's the head trauma," the devil says helpfully. "It can do some strange things to your perception and emotions. Don't worry about it."

"Okay. What did I give you?" Jon Jon asks the devil.

The devil shrugs coyly. "Oh, nothing yet," he says.

Jon Jon sighs. "What did I promise?"

"Nothing," the devil says, with a smirk. "Yet."

"I didn't sign anything?" Jon Jon asks suspiciously.

"Not yet!" the devil says. "But I'm more than happy to oblige. What would you like to sign? Or rather," he corrects, "what would you like to receive? You've lost so much. Isn't it time you gained something?"

Jon Jon just stares at him. Shakes his head in utter bafflement. Finally heads over to maybe actually check on the two prone figures, see if they're even alive, who they are, etc.

They seem... fine. Somewhat younger folks, a man and a woman, fairly well-dressed, but not richly. The woman stirs a bit as he checks on her, mutters something about not wanting to dig the ditch yet, another hour. Rolls over.

The man doesn't really stir, but his breathing is fairly steady. Just to be safe, Jon Jon rolls him onto his side.

He glances back to the devil.

The devil breaks out a radiant smile, and beams at him.

"Why are you so happy?!" Jon Jon demands.

"Why, it's you, of course!" the devil tells him. "A paladin! So pure, but so broken. So much pain to hide so much tarnished goodness, and all alone in the world. You have so much potential."

Jon Jon says, "What."

"And you summoned me," the devil goes on. "Poor, old, terrible me. I haven't any such purity, you know. None at all."

"And I'm the one who got hit in the head?" Jon Jon asks. "Are you blind or something?"

"Not at all," the devil says matter-of-factly, still grinning widely.

"You're talking like I've got this... purity like some... sack of rice to..." Jon Jon says sarcastically, "I dunno, pour all over you?"

The devil gives Jon Jon a dubious look.

Jon Jon returns it with a completely baffled one. "Is that innuendo? Is this your... kink, or something?" he asks.

The devil considers this, briefly. "Well," he says, "I suppose I do derive a certain... satisfaction from..." he stops. "I'm sorry, is this... your kink?"

Jon Jon just stares at him.

"Oh, my," the devil says, breaking into an even wider grin than ever.

Jon Jon just gives up entirely. Sits down next to the other two, still asleep. The room spins helpfully around him, and his head throbs in tune, a bit less helpfully. He closes his eyes for a moment. Wants, for all the world, to pray, for help, for... something.

Has no idea, anymore, even how to.

Vaguely, he wonders where his helmet is. Or his armour. Or any of his stuff, really. He's wearing some random clothes he doesn't even recognise, and that's about it.

He rubs the scar of the brand on his forehead absentmindedly. Of course the devil would have been ecstatic to see that...

"When was the last time you prayed to your god?" the devil asks.

Jon Jon doesn't answer.

"Are you afraid he won't answer?" the devil goes on. "Or are you more afraid that he... will?"

Jon Jon closes his eyes again, tries to go to his happy place. Remembers, after an annoyingly long, painful, awkward moment, that he doesn't have one. Also realises that closing his eyes just seems to make the spinning worse.

"Oh, gods," Jon Jon whimpers.

"It's all right," the devil says. "It hurts to be cast aside, I know. Believe me, I know. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't move on, that you can't have belonging again, purpose. We can start with something small. Do something about that brand, such a little thing.

"Wouldn't you like to be free of your past?" the devil asks.

Jon Jon answers by sifting through a nearby pile of bottles and downing the dregs of a few he finds still containing some contents.

The devil gives him a moment. Doesn't point out the obvious.

Says after a bit, almost gently, "You'll be able to show your face again. Walk freely in human lands. Return home. No more judgement."

Jon Jon lobs a bottle at the devil, and misses completely. Tries to hold back the tears welling up unhelpfully in his eyeballs.

"Start anew."

Jon Jon just starts sobbing.

The devil lets him be. Gives him time. Gives his words a chance to sink in, take root.

Jon Jon sits, in his utter loneliness, and thinks. Slowly, terribly, recovers some small amount of composure, mostly because it just hurts less that way.

Considers.

Stares vacantly off into space as the whole room continues to spin merrily about his head.

Finally, the woman wakes up. Mumbles, stirs, sits up. Jon Jon pries himself out of his stupor to try to steady her a bit, and she groans, looks around.

"What happened?" she asks. "Did it work?"

"No," Jon Jon says. Asks, "Do you live here?"

She shrugs, shakes her head. Looks around some more. Jon Jon helps her up, winds up leaning on her about as much.

"Oh, do bring the lass over here," the devil says. "Let's say hello!"

The woman blinks, gives the devil a surprised look.

"Ignore him," Jon Jon says.

"Well, that's rude," the devil says.

The woman gives Jon Jon a confused, terrified look. "Oh gods," she says. "The guild, if they find out..."

"Oh, you know I could help with that..." the devil suggests.

"Can you get home safely?" Jon Jon asks her, ignoring him entirely.

She nods. Gives the devil another worried look.

"Go," Jon Jon says. "Don't look back."

She goes.

"That could be you, you know," the devil points out. "Somewhere to return to. The most you have to fear a few dalliances. 'Don't look back!'"

"I want that," Jon Jon replies quietly. "You know I do. More than anything."

"Well!" the devil says delightedly. "Let's make it happen."

Jon Jon stares at the devil for a long, terrible moment. Tries to hold back more tears, and especially the ensuing redoubling of the headache. Tries not to listen as the devil describes all he needs, a piecemeal thing, nothing now, so very little later.

Turns away, shakes the guy, still passed out, on the floor.

The guy doesn't stir. Doesn't wake up.

But it is just one person now. He could just... he looks around. Finds a scrap of cloth, uses it to tie his hair back like a bandanna, covering the brand.

"Oh, what are you doing?" the devil asks.

Jon Jon picks up the still passed-out guy off the floor, hefts him over his shoulders, and leaves.

Resolution

Jon Jon drops the guy off at the drunk tank. The guards, a bit bemused at first, agree to stash the guy until he actually wakes up without any particular issue - most of the bemusement seems to really just be from the fact that Jon Jon is dropping someone else off there, given his apparent state.

Jon Jon just mutters something about how much he wishes he were properly intoxicated right now and shuffles off.

Winds up at the temple of Tyr. The 'Hall of Justice'. Has a slight issue getting in - one of the guards tries to direct him to the nearby shelter instead - but he insists, says he's after something specific, urgent, important. Needs to speak to the priests. Suspicious as all hell, they let him in.

Vaguely, Jon Jon wonders just how bad he probably looks.

He finds a priest, who immediately opens that as much as they'd like to help, they simply cannot afford the charity right now, not with everything that's going on. Jon Jon stops the kid, says, that's not what he's here for, he just needs someone who can safely dismiss an infernal summoning.

The priest wats at that.

Jon Jon repeats, "I need someone who can safely dismiss an infernal summoning. I need them to be someone who would not be endangered by the exposure, and probably with backup. Who do I talk to about this?"

The priest wats, again.

Jon Jon stares at him. Asks, "Am I not making sense?" Because he really isn't even sure that he is. Mostly he just wants to lie down. Somewhat, he just wants to vomit.

The priest sputters a bit, then gets ahold of himself. Replies, "No, that, yeah. I think it does. Uh, this..." He gestures, indicates Jon Jon to come with. Leads him elsewhere in the temple, to some room.

The room, it turns out, is full of paladins. At first, they don't really take notice of the two newcomers. Then they do properly notice. Give Jon Jon a few odd looks, but turn their gazes to the young priest, who is so far out of his depth at this point that he's practically shaking.

"Uh, he... he said..." the priest tries, indicating Jon Jon.

"Thanks, kid," Jon Jon says, "it's fine. Go." Waves the priest away.

He flees.

Jon Jon tries not to laugh.

One of the paladins asks, "Can we help you?"

"Oh yeah," Jon Jon says. "Who wants to get rid of a devil?"

Looks are exchanged, and some murmurs.

One of them asks Jon Jon what, precisely, he means by this.

Jon Jon collapses into a random chair as he tries to explain, but then, two words in, just slides the rest of the way to the floor instead as the whole room hurls itself around him, his head throbbing like a gelatinous cube.

He gives up. Returns the floor's embrace, like some long-lost lover, and lets the darkness take him.

Really, how important could it have even been?

Jon Jon wakes up exactly two minutes later, his headache gone, suddenly far more aware than he'd even realised he wasn't. Gentle hands withdraw from his chest, and he finds himself looking up at a young woman's face, far lovelier than it had any right to be, framed by her dark hair and Tyrran armour.

She'd healed him.

"Agh, why would you do that?" Jon Jon asks, scooting a bit away.

The others are all hovering nearby as well, and he gives them vaguely suspicious looks too, just for good measure.

"I sense no evil in you," the paladin replies. "I would be remiss not to help."

"You know that can be masked, right?" Jon Jon points out.

"With what?" she says wryly. "You have nothing of value on you, and such an enchantment would need something to cast it into."

Jon Jon grunts.

The paladin just smiles. Introduces herself as Édith. There's just such a gentleness about her, an aura of grace, soft, exact, almost innocent, but also not. It's captivating.

She's young enough to be his daughter, he realises. In fact, his daughter probably would have been about her age now...

Jon Jon turns away, tries not to look, not to remember. Takes a deep breath, gets up.

Édith helps him, smiles again. Says, "It's all right. You're in good hands."

He replies, "I'm sorry, you just... reminded me of someone."

"Someone dear to you?" she says. "Someone you lost."

"Well, that hardly narrows it down," Jon Jon mutters.

A look of concern crosses her face, briefly, but then Édith just moves on, adopts a tone of slightly more professionalism. "What was it you wanted to tell us?" she asks.

Jon Jon sighs, but welcomes the change of topic. "There's a devil in a basement in the docks district. Bound in a summoning circle," he says tiredly. "It needs to be safely dismissed."

Édith nods. "You were right to bring this matter to us. It would be unfortunate if those not equipped to handle such a creature were exposed to its influence," she says. "Can you be more specific as to which house it is?"

"I figured I'd just take you there," Jon Jon replies.

Édith nods again. Has another paladin come with.

The three of them return to the house, head to the basement.

The devil is still there, in the summoning circle. He breaks out into another dazzling smile as Jon Jon reenters the basement, and says, "Ah, you return! I thought maybe you'd simply abandoned me." He gives the two paladins appraising looks as well. "Oh my," he adds.

Édith and the other guy approach warily, while Jon Jon just sort of stands back.

"Feels good, doesn't it, surrounded by all that holy righteousness?" the devil continues, to Jon Jon. "If only they knew..."

"Tell them, then," Jon Jon says. "Bring the truth to light."

The devil smirks. Turns to Édith. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"What, exactly?" she asks.

"Why, of course, who summoned me!" the devil says with a flourish.

Édith gives the devil a level look. Asks, "Who summoned you, devil?"

The devil laughs. "Well, I could hardly give you that information for free," he says.

Édith makes a disgusted noise and exchanges glances with the other guy, whose name is probably Terrence or something.

"I did," Jon Jon says. "I summoned him. Apparently."

"Apparently?" Édith asks.

"Yeah, well," Jon Jon says. "I have basically no recollection of last night..."

Édith and probably Terrence exchange glances again. Terrence moves to actually undo the summoning. Édith comes over to face Jon Jon, looking concerned, almost disappointed. The expression is so familiar it barely even registers, though somewhere in the back of his mind he is a bit sad to see on her, in particular.

"My lord," the devil says over Terrence, "I do hope you'll consider my offer. You really only have everything to gain, after all. So when we meet again..."

Terrence finishes undoing the summoning/binding, and the devil disappears in a whiff of sulphur.

Édith's eyes widen.

"What?" Jon Jon says.

Terrence comes over too, a somewhat harder look on his face. "What's your name?" he asks.

Jon Jon looks between them, uncertain what to tell them. Then he just says, "I don't have one."

"Everyone has a name," Édith says softly.

Jon Jon just pulls the do-rag off his head, revealing the brand. "I don't," he says.

Édith inhales sharply, backs away, as dawning realisation, understanding, replaces all of her concern almost immediately. Terrence just scoffs, turns away. Spits.

The two paladins leave.

Jon Jon sinks to the floor, into despair, once more truly alone.

Aftermath

Eventually, Jon Jon manages to get up. Finds his actual clothes (or at least some adequate replacements), and especially his helmet (or one just like it).

Heads back to the city core. Comes to the courtyard. There had been such a growing crowd, earlier, and such a clamour, but now it's empty, almost eerily quiet. Now, in the darkening evening, it's simply over. It's as if everyone is simply avoiding the space.

The body, what's left of it, is still hanging from the tree.

They'd just left it there.

Jon Jon heads over. Finds Aribeth below it, knelt on the ground, holding her sword down before her.

"I'm so sorry," he tells her.

She doesn't answer. Shakes softly. Weeps.

Jon Jon sits, next to her. Looks up at Fenthick's body, hanging still, untended. Says, again, quietly, "I'm sorry."

Aribeth doesn't really acknowledge him. Jon Jon doesn't really say anything else, know what else he could possibly say.

But he stays with her, regardless, in silence, as the night settles around them.