M Portrait of Mindartis

Mindartis Siannodel

High Elf — Waterdeep

Wizard — School of Abjuration

7 Level
42 HP
16 AC
30 ft Speed
STR 12 +1
DEX 16 +3
CON 10 +0
INT 18 +4
WIS 8 -1
CHA 13 +1
View full sheet on D&D Beyond
Nightstone, Before

The Nightstone had been older than the palisade, older than the keep, older than Velrosa's family in this valley. A tall obsidian-like obelisk that the villagers liked to claim was a meteor fallen in some forgotten age. He had thought, on his last visit, that it was probably something stranger than that.

Elf delegates, Lords' Alliance representatives, Velrosa herself as host. The Silver Marches had been unstable; she had wanted to hear what the elves were watching for. The kind of meeting where the wine mattered more than the documents.

He had liked her. Sharp without being cold. Generous without being foolish. They had stood together at the foot of the obelisk one evening, and she had told him the village had been built around it, not the other way round. He had remembered that.

And now the obelisk was gone. And Velrosa was almost certainly dead. And whatever had taken the stone had not bothered to leave the cottage-sized cousins behind by accident.

Absent: The Tower

Mindartis vanished during the party's final hours in Nightstone. The bloodstone's pull had been growing since Dustin found it in the hag's house — unpredictable, indiscriminate, dragging people into the Ethereal Plane without warning or pattern. One moment the elf was there. The next, the air shimmered, and he was not.

Back with the Party

Mindartis stepped out of the grey shimmer of the Ethereal Plane mid-conversation, as if he had merely left the room for a moment rather than been ripped between realities. He adjusted his cloak. He surveyed his surroundings — a cloud castle, drifting a thousand feet above the road — with the measured calm of someone who had decided, quite firmly, not to give the bloodstone the satisfaction of a reaction.

The Peace Treaty

Mindartis knows Lady Velrosa from a couple of years ago. He definitely wants to attend the party and ask her some questions about how things have been since he was gone — especially how it has been between the elves and the humans after he brokered a peace treaty. Peace. Such a fragile thing.

Threads to Pull

Velrosa could speak for one side without forgetting the other. That kind of person does not get replaced by an heir.

The girl asked for a message carried to Triboar. It is little enough. It is also the thread I have to pull. Whoever did this to Nightstone did not pick it at random. The obelisk was here for a reason. Velrosa was here for a reason. I might still be here for one.

The bard and the paladin are going. The Goliath is going because there is nothing to stop him. The Dragonborn is going because he has just found something worth standing inside. The wizard is going because no one has invited him to leave.

I am going because I want to know what comes next.

What Cold Does

Cold like that does its work very fast.

I had perhaps fifteen seconds of useful thought before my hands stopped being mine. I used the first three to slow the fall. The slab had caught the griffon across the rib and the bird had not survived it — I was already calculating, already arriving at the conclusion the body had not yet caught up to. A hole made by my own working was directly below me. I would land in it whether I slowed or not.

The water was darker than I would have predicted. Salt; the sea had come up through the broken shelf. I did not see the surface again. I felt my robes pull at me, weight where there had been almost none.

I have read accounts of drowning written by men who had been pulled from the sea in time to write them. They use the word "peaceful." This was not peaceful. It was loud. The cold was loud, and the breath I had taken in was loud, and the impossibility of the next breath was very loud indeed.

Something found my collar. The water pulled away from my face. I did not see whose hand it was — only the shape above me, very large, and the lift was a single motion, as if I weighed what an apple weighs.

He set me on the ice and went to fight.

I owe him a debt I will not articulate aloud. He would not know what to do with the articulation. I will articulate it differently — I will be at his shoulder next time he wades into something that should not be waded into, and I will make sure he comes out of it.

That is how the books I prefer get balanced.