The trail from Nashkel led first through blood and then through lies.

After clearing the mines and ending Mulahey’s schemes, I returned to Nashkel and received the gratitude of Mayor Berrun Chastkill. The reward was generous, but it brought little comfort. The letters found among Mulahey’s belongings made one thing clear: he had not acted alone.

The name Tazok appeared again and again.

Following the trail took us back through Beregost, where we tracked down a messenger named Tranzig. Under pressure, he revealed that he carried messages between Mulahey and Tazok, and that Tazok could often be found through contacts in Larswood and Peldvale. He spoke of bandits operating under his command and of a camp hidden somewhere in the wilderness.

Not long after, another assassin came for me.

Nimbul approached without warning, speaking only of death before drawing steel. Like the others sent before him, he died without revealing why so many seem determined to see me buried.

We pressed eastward.

Along the way we crossed paths with druids mourning the slaughter of their companions at the hands of a bandit group known as the Chill. One of their number, driven mad by grief, attacked us without warning. We were forced to put him down before learning the truth of what had happened there.

The deeper we traveled into the wilderness, the more signs of organized activity we found. Skeletons wandered forgotten roads. Dread wolves prowled the forests. Patrols of armed bandits appeared with increasing frequency. These were not random brigands. They were disciplined, coordinated, and operating under a larger command.

Eventually we found the camp.

At first glance it appeared to be little more than a gathering of raiders and mercenaries, but beneath the surface lay something far more dangerous. We fought through guards, hobgoblins, and hired swords until we reached Tazok’s quarters. Though Tazok himself was absent, his lieutenants made it clear they knew exactly who I was.

The battle that followed was fierce.

When it ended, we searched the camp and discovered letters that changed everything.

The correspondence spoke of ore shipments, stockpiles, and direct orders concerning the iron shortage plaguing the Sword Coast. More troubling still were repeated references to a powerful organization known as the Iron Throne. The letters also confirmed that assassins had been hired specifically to eliminate my companions and me.

Someone knew we were coming.

Someone wanted us dead.

Among the survivors was a man named Ender Sai, who revealed even more. According to him, Tazok’s bandit forces were only part of a larger operation stretching all the way into Cloakwood. There, hidden somewhere within the depths of the forest, lay another mine connected to the conspiracy.

At last the pieces begin to fit together.

The poisoned ore from Nashkel. The bandit raids. The stolen shipments. Tazok. The Iron Throne.

The obvious conclusion is that someone seeks to control the region’s iron trade by destroying the competition. Yet I cannot shake the feeling that there is more to this than simple greed. Too many resources have been committed. Too many killers have been sent after me personally.

The questions continue to grow.

For now, however, I have only one lead.

Cloakwood.

And whatever waits for me there.

–Cail