March 13, 1492

We returned to the bathhouse to see what we could learn. Enya grabbed a private room while I cozied up to a human male in one of the tubs. At my age, you take what action you can get. In this case, it was just a bonus if I could pump him for information. He mentioned that the walls had secrets, which soon proved to be true.
 
The bathhouse workers were scared. I suspect they’re being forced to cooperate with the cult somehow. They took an early lunch during which we discovered a secret passage leading into some sort of underground hall.
 
At the base of a long stone staircase, we found ourselves in a dark, dank, rancid place that reeked of death and dripped with stagnant waters. As we waded through, we came to a trio of passages, two of which lay behind closed doors.
 
Behind the first door was a group of unfriendly creatures. We dispatched them, but at a serious cost to our health. The second concealed a long passage. We determined to explore this path, but I thought it might be wise to ensure we weren’t being followed or, perhaps, leaving something useful behind. I turned back to check out the third hallway. A grave mistake, I would learn soon enough.
 
The path I took led to a spacious altar room where the stony countenance of Bhaal greeted me. I felt that horrifying buzzing at the base of my skull - the same one that precursed that inexplicable rage only yesterday. I felt compelled to draw nearer, even as the putrid stench of rotting flesh permeated the air. Luckily, the others realized I was missing and turned back. Enya shook my mind loose and I returned with the troop to the task at hand.
 
At the end of the opposite passage, we spied a group of cultists tormenting an emaciated, jaundiced man chained to a wall. We were in no shape to stage any sort of rescue, though. I suspect the victim may be Ravengard, but I cannot be sure. We had no choice but to vacate the hideout, hoping to return in better condition and, perhaps, with the support of the Flaming Fist. Of course, it was never going to be that simple.
 
Speak of imbeciles and they shall invariably appear. After Umber dispatched the guard at the top of the stairs - in spectacular fashion, I might add - we were apprehended by none other than a squadron of Flaming Fist soldiers. We were led away in chains into a caged wagon and transported across the city.
 
A few miles into our trip, the wagon was surrounded by dragon cultists, led by Ultiss himself. He attempted to bribe our captors, but resorted instead to slaughtering them. Then, when he learned that I was the one who intercepted his letter, he decided I would be his next victim. My arthritic old bones will demand vengeance for it later, but I did manage quite a
nimble feat, if I may say so, and stealthily freed myself, Umber, and Kunin (half of him, at any rate) from our manacles. When the Wyrmling reached for me, I slapped my cuffs onto his wrists and aimed a kick at his head. He dodged my first attack, but my second, with my longsword, severed his head. From there, the fight was on. We actually managed to operate as real, trained soldiers rather than street brawlers. Perhaps Elturel’s coffers are not entirely wasted on the Hellriders. Almost, but not totally.
 
When it came down to Ultiss, Enya had a stroke of genius. She hid Umber with her invisibility magick and wooed the bastard. I thought I hadn’t seen any action in a while, but Ultiss could hardly keep it in his pretentious crimson cloak. Kunin and I trailed behind, following discreetly at a distance. That was until I stumbled and alerted Ultiss to our presence. Enya played it off, but Ultiss charmed us. Kunin was paralyzed and I experienced an immediate and urgent need to get as far from Enya and Ultiss as I possibly could. I came to somewhere near the caged wagon. I decided not to risk trying to catch up with Enya. Umber was with her and I was confident he would handle any mishaps.
 
I was surprised when Enya, Umber, and Ultiss returned, all alive, to the cart. Umber had in his hand a petrified Kunin who, despite his frozen state, still appeared brooding and sour. Enya donned the armor of one of the fallen Flaming Fist men and drove the wagon-full of “prisoners” back to the bathhouse. Kunin recovered on the way. We hoped that Ultiss would aid us in clearing the bathhouse’s secret dungeon. By “we,” I mean Umber. He made the mistake of believing Tiamat’s favorite disciple and shook Ultiss’s hand, to Umber’s immediate and very nearly fatal detriment.
 
Enya, Kunin, and I promptly escorted Ultiss from this world. He will enter the next life sans one critical length of flesh, which now lays in a pile of necrotic ash. I patted around Utliss’s cloak and, Gods know where the hell he stashed them, but 15 bottles of wine tumbled from the crimson folds.
 
Kunin shrieked and called out to Umber as the Dragonborn faded from consciousness. His voice lost its usual overemphasized grit and became shrill and desperate. He turned on Enya, as the originator of this whole scheme with Ultiss, and the two lost their heads in a heated argument. I elected to let them distract one another while I sprinted to the potion shop we recently visited. In retrospect, I really should have unhitched the horse from our wagon and ridden him to town.
 
When I arrived at the shop, I was winded and in a panic. I quite literally shook down the elderly man who owned the shop, who handed over a stale, homebrewed healing potion. I attempted to procure a better one, but the shop door got the better of me. I took the proffered vial and ran back to the bathhouse.
 
Wheezing, I passed the vial to Enya, who administered the potion. Miraculously, it worked. Umber returned to the realm of the living. He sputtered violently as he snapped upright. That potion was definitely out of date, but it worked. Between gulps of air, I passed a bottle of what I hoped would be a sweet red vintage to Umber, who seemed grateful to taste anything else and downed the bottle in a few swigs.
 
I can not - or perhaps will not - say that I trust Umber completely. However, he has acted with integrity and honor from the start and there is still one salvageable part of my mind that knows he is worthy of my respect. If nothing else, I must concede he is a far better warrior than I. Even without wings, this dragon still flies. Even without wings, these are poisonous skies. Even without wings, Star Mount battle cries. Even without wings, the clouds are all lies. A warrior without wings, only fear in his eyes.
 
Kunin and Umber are justifiably pissed. Kunin is projecting his fears onto Enya, as it seems he is wont to do, while Umber is seething and off in his own mind.
For now, I will simply catch my breath and stay out of the way while we decide our next move. We may soon descend back into the cavern beneath the bathhouse. I should have taken that early retirement last summer. I’m getting much too old for this shit.