A fantastic treasure trove is yours for the taking in this adventure for the world's greatest roleplaying game.
Famed explorer Volothamp Geddarm needs you to complete a simple quest. Thus begins a mad romp through the wards of Waterdeep as you uncover a villainous plot involving some of the city’s most influential figures.
A grand urban caper awaits you. Pit your skill and bravado against villains the likes of which you’ve never faced before, and let the dragon hunt begin!
You will have traveled through lands claimed and controlled by the Lords of Waterdeep long before you see its walls. If you’ve come from the south by the Trade Way, you’ll have met the City Guard at their post at Zundbridge. From the north by way of the Long Road, you’ll have passed under their watchful eyes at the town of Rassalantar. And whether by land or sea, you’ll likely also have been spotted by the Griffon Cavalry — even if you have not spotted them.
Worry not. Waterdeep is a welcoming city, and you have nothing to fear from these guardians unless you lead a rampaging army of orcs, a horde of gnolls, or similar. They don’t even require a toll be paid. (Beware any City Guard who demands a toll, and report the incident to a magister of Waterdeep at your earliest convenience.)
If you travel in a large caravan or on a ship, you will be required to register with a magister at the gate at which you arrived or with the harbor magister. Magisters can easily be recognized by the black robes they wear (and, in fact, are commonly called “black robes” as a result) and the City Guard force that always accompanies them. Be aware that magisters can pass a sentence without a trial. It behooves you to treat them with proper respect.
If you travel overland in a small party or alone, you aren’t required to register with a magister unless your stay extends beyond a tenday. At that point, you must register with a magister either at the harbor, the gates, or the city courts. Discovery of your failure to do so can result in a fine or forced labor. Of course, registration subjects you to monthly taxation. But as a truculent old acquaintance from the Dales once told me, “The sheep gives the shepherd its fleece or there’ll be mutton for dinner.” That is, the magisters will get you either way, so you might as well register up front.
That said, many canny visitors with business for a month or a season betimes avail themselves of the hospitality of inns in Undercliff, the pleasant farmland east of the city proper. The less well-off often find accommodation in the Field Ward. Because neither are official wards of the city, they aren’t subject to taxation. Note, however, that because both these areas have yet to be formally accepted as wards of the city, they don’t benefit from the securities of Guild Law or the protection of the Watch. If you choose to follow this path, be on your guard. Fools rush in where auditors fear to tread.
Regardless of what size party you arrive with or by what means, if you arrive by night or in winter, expect to register. In winter and at night the gates are shut. Ships aren’t expected at night or as a regular occurrence after the first frost of the coming season, and are often met at docking by a magister — or by a contingent of the Guard who will hold travelers aboard until a magister can be summoned.
None of these rules apply to the city’s least used gate, the West Gate. This smaller gate opens onto the Mud Flats — a mucky beach used by clam diggers, shore fishers, and those brave enough to bathe in the cold waves. Those who make a living through fishing with nets or traps also use this gate, keeping their small boats on the beach to avoid docking fees. Locals register with the Guard as they exit and as they enter. No magister is stationed at the gate, but no new arrivals to Waterdeep are accepted here.
If you approach by air, expect a vigorous pursuit by and confrontation with the Griffon Cavalry. Only specially licensed individuals and mounts can fly over Waterdeep. It is best to land well outside the city and approach on foot.
The above is the minimum of what a novice adventurer would know upon first arriving in the city. Depending on your character's personal history, you could be privy to more details about the City of Splendors. Additional information may be available via PM.
One fateful evening in Waterdeep, City of Splendors, Crown of the North, five strangers meet by chance around a table in the Yawning Portal inn, sitting not thirty feet from the mouth of the well that leads down into the Undermountain, reputed to be the most extensive and perilous dungeon in Faerûn.
But dungeon-delving is not the business that brings these five to this table - not tonight, anyway. In the middle of the table stands a pewter tankard filled not with beer or mead or kvass, but with a bunch of white writing quills, neatly arranged. By this token these five are gathered together, though every man's - or kobold’s - reasons are his own.
In the background, Durnan the proprietor pulls another mug of stout behind the bar, Bonnie the barmaid bustles between tables with platters of quippers and chips, Mattrim “Threestrings” Mereg plucks at his eponymous three-stringed lute and sings the ribald ballad The Flying Flambinis, and a trio of street urchins are hustled to the door by Meloon Wardragon, retired sellsword and semi-official bouncer. The place is packed, the atmosphere is hot and close, the ambiance is jovial, and the savor of fried food and stale beer is so tangible that it settles over visitors like a second skin.
As the tavern hums and strums and drinks and sups and belches around them, our five friends regard each other across the table. The man that each of them came to meet has not yet arrived. Perhaps some polite conversation is in order.
To begin, each of you please give a brief description of your character - stature, clothing, mannerisms, etc. - including what he’s ordered, if anything. Just a description for now, no dialogue. There is no initiative order. Once everybody has posted, play will proceed.
With platinum-white hair and bluish skin, this fellow stands out. He appears confident with a light behind his violet eyes that playfully reflects in a crimson flash. His ears suggest an elven heritage, but his larger build suggests a mixed one. His right ear is pierced several times and his hair fallen into a mop with twin braids down each side. He wears leathers styled in a home brew of color and artisanship. He has taste in his appearance that falls in line with the lute that he holds lightly strumming as he follows along with Threestring's ballad. With such a garb and with that countenance he probably has never lacked attention whether good or bad. A smile, or perhaps a smirk, paints his face as he waits in this good company. The night-skinned fey had ordered tripe in a white wine sauce and appeared confident and delighted in his choice.
To his left, a human man of average height and build takes a seat. He seems slightly uncomfortable, even a little irritated that so many are here, but he smiles and nods politely to everyone in turn before claiming his space.
The man has auburn hair and a neat beard, and is dressed fairly plainly, as if he has just come from closing up shop in the Market. A finely made brown hat is hung from the back of his chair, with a single pleat running from crown to brim.
He pushes his spectacles up before setting in and ordering mead and a plate of quippers. A lead ring set with an uncut red stone imperfectly reflects the firelight as he raises a mead cup to his lips once his meal arrived.
As he picks idly at his food and sips his drink, his eyes wander, never stopping for very long before finding some new target of interest.
Though not showy, this Human male’s clothes appear well-made and fit his svelte form nicely. Relaxed and at ease, his mouth quirked with the faintest suggestion of a grin, he holds a noble bearing though his manner is devoid of the arrogance common to many young aristocrats. His gaze shifts from one tablemate to the next as he takes a slow and appreciative sip of his Neverwinter black icewine.
Clad in a worn plate armor but intimidating nonetheless, our adventurer relaxes in his chair. A mug of beer cradled in both of his hands, he sips at the mug while taking in his fellow table mates. His short dark coarse hair frames his face, a face that hinted at noble features with a rough build to it. His eyes carry a weariness uncommon for his young age. He leans back in his chair, stretches his solid legs and absentmindedly grazes at his warhammer resting by his side. The low light of the inn casts a warm glow on his skin, revealing a bronze tan tone.
Seated in - or rather, standing on - one of the chairs is a red-scaled kobold clad in red-and-black robes. Neither the hustle and bustle of the tavern or his own diminutive stature in any way diminish the burning, driven ambition in his eyes. With clawed hands gripping the table, he peers around the tavern, appraising his surroundings and impatient to begin the evening's business.
Ego wins out over patience, and the kobold snarls in frustration:
"Krrrr! Where is job-giver at this time?! Akai is here for fortune! For glory! Not for endless waiting! Will be wasting arcane might on drunkards 'stead of monsters of the deep, this goes on much longer!"
The well-dressed human with the aristocratic air has the Initiative. He can respond to Akai's outburst, redirect the conversation, or remain silent and pass his turn.
Idly balancing his wine glass on the point of an index finger, the golden-haired human raises a brow in reaction to the Kobold's outburst. With another sip of wine, his gaze briefly moves about the tavern before returning to his companions. In a mild tone, he inquires of the group, "Has anyone asked Bonnie if Volo is about?"
WELCOME TO WATERDEEP!
A fantastic treasure trove is yours for the taking in this adventure for the world's greatest roleplaying game.
Famed explorer Volothamp Geddarm needs you to complete a simple quest. Thus begins a mad romp through the wards of Waterdeep as you uncover a villainous plot involving some of the city’s most influential figures.
A grand urban caper awaits you. Pit your skill and bravado against villains the likes of which you’ve never faced before, and let the dragon hunt begin!
Entering Waterdeep
You will have traveled through lands claimed and controlled by the Lords of Waterdeep long before you see its walls. If you’ve come from the south by the Trade Way, you’ll have met the City Guard at their post at Zundbridge. From the north by way of the Long Road, you’ll have passed under their watchful eyes at the town of Rassalantar. And whether by land or sea, you’ll likely also have been spotted by the Griffon Cavalry — even if you have not spotted them.
Worry not. Waterdeep is a welcoming city, and you have nothing to fear from these guardians unless you lead a rampaging army of orcs, a horde of gnolls, or similar. They don’t even require a toll be paid. (Beware any City Guard who demands a toll, and report the incident to a magister of Waterdeep at your earliest convenience.)
If you travel in a large caravan or on a ship, you will be required to register with a magister at the gate at which you arrived or with the harbor magister. Magisters can easily be recognized by the black robes they wear (and, in fact, are commonly called “black robes” as a result) and the City Guard force that always accompanies them. Be aware that magisters can pass a sentence without a trial. It behooves you to treat them with proper respect.
If you travel overland in a small party or alone, you aren’t required to register with a magister unless your stay extends beyond a tenday. At that point, you must register with a magister either at the harbor, the gates, or the city courts. Discovery of your failure to do so can result in a fine or forced labor. Of course, registration subjects you to monthly taxation. But as a truculent old acquaintance from the Dales once told me, “The sheep gives the shepherd its fleece or there’ll be mutton for dinner.” That is, the magisters will get you either way, so you might as well register up front.
That said, many canny visitors with business for a month or a season betimes avail themselves of the hospitality of inns in Undercliff, the pleasant farmland east of the city proper. The less well-off often find accommodation in the Field Ward. Because neither are official wards of the city, they aren’t subject to taxation. Note, however, that because both these areas have yet to be formally accepted as wards of the city, they don’t benefit from the securities of Guild Law or the protection of the Watch. If you choose to follow this path, be on your guard. Fools rush in where auditors fear to tread.
Regardless of what size party you arrive with or by what means, if you arrive by night or in winter, expect to register. In winter and at night the gates are shut. Ships aren’t expected at night or as a regular occurrence after the first frost of the coming season, and are often met at docking by a magister — or by a contingent of the Guard who will hold travelers aboard until a magister can be summoned.
None of these rules apply to the city’s least used gate, the West Gate. This smaller gate opens onto the Mud Flats — a mucky beach used by clam diggers, shore fishers, and those brave enough to bathe in the cold waves. Those who make a living through fishing with nets or traps also use this gate, keeping their small boats on the beach to avoid docking fees. Locals register with the Guard as they exit and as they enter. No magister is stationed at the gate, but no new arrivals to Waterdeep are accepted here.
If you approach by air, expect a vigorous pursuit by and confrontation with the Griffon Cavalry. Only specially licensed individuals and mounts can fly over Waterdeep. It is best to land well outside the city and approach on foot.
The above is the minimum of what a novice adventurer would know upon first arriving in the city. Depending on your character's personal history, you could be privy to more details about the City of Splendors. Additional information may be available via PM.
Waterdeep, a Map of the City:
Nothing to add at this point; just posting so I have this on my thread list.
Doing the same.
Waterdeep, The Code Legal
Waterdeep is no village led by hidebound hierarchs or petty fiefdom ruled by the whim of a warlord.
It is a city of laws molded by Tyr’s spirit of justice.
Know the Law. Obey the Law.
The Law is swift and vengeful.
Likewise.
Samesies
okie dokie artichokie
Chapter 1: A Friend in Need
Day 1 - First of Eleint - Dusk
One fateful evening in Waterdeep, City of Splendors, Crown of the North, five strangers meet by chance around a table in the Yawning Portal inn, sitting not thirty feet from the mouth of the well that leads down into the Undermountain, reputed to be the most extensive and perilous dungeon in Faerûn.
But dungeon-delving is not the business that brings these five to this table - not tonight, anyway. In the middle of the table stands a pewter tankard filled not with beer or mead or kvass, but with a bunch of white writing quills, neatly arranged. By this token these five are gathered together, though every man's - or kobold’s - reasons are his own.
In the background, Durnan the proprietor pulls another mug of stout behind the bar, Bonnie the barmaid bustles between tables with platters of quippers and chips, Mattrim “Threestrings” Mereg plucks at his eponymous three-stringed lute and sings the ribald ballad The Flying Flambinis, and a trio of street urchins are hustled to the door by Meloon Wardragon, retired sellsword and semi-official bouncer. The place is packed, the atmosphere is hot and close, the ambiance is jovial, and the savor of fried food and stale beer is so tangible that it settles over visitors like a second skin.
As the tavern hums and strums and drinks and sups and belches around them, our five friends regard each other across the table. The man that each of them came to meet has not yet arrived. Perhaps some polite conversation is in order.
To begin, each of you please give a brief description of your character - stature, clothing, mannerisms, etc. - including what he’s ordered, if anything. Just a description for now, no dialogue. There is no initiative order. Once everybody has posted, play will proceed.
With platinum-white hair and bluish skin, this fellow stands out. He appears confident with a light behind his violet eyes that playfully reflects in a crimson flash. His ears suggest an elven heritage, but his larger build suggests a mixed one. His right ear is pierced several times and his hair fallen into a mop with twin braids down each side. He wears leathers styled in a home brew of color and artisanship. He has taste in his appearance that falls in line with the lute that he holds lightly strumming as he follows along with Threestring's ballad. With such a garb and with that countenance he probably has never lacked attention whether good or bad. A smile, or perhaps a smirk, paints his face as he waits in this good company. The night-skinned fey had ordered tripe in a white wine sauce and appeared confident and delighted in his choice.
To his left, a human man of average height and build takes a seat. He seems slightly uncomfortable, even a little irritated that so many are here, but he smiles and nods politely to everyone in turn before claiming his space.
The man has auburn hair and a neat beard, and is dressed fairly plainly, as if he has just come from closing up shop in the Market. A finely made brown hat is hung from the back of his chair, with a single pleat running from crown to brim.
He pushes his spectacles up before setting in and ordering mead and a plate of quippers. A lead ring set with an uncut red stone imperfectly reflects the firelight as he raises a mead cup to his lips once his meal arrived.
As he picks idly at his food and sips his drink, his eyes wander, never stopping for very long before finding some new target of interest.
Though not showy, this Human male’s clothes appear well-made and fit his svelte form nicely. Relaxed and at ease, his mouth quirked with the faintest suggestion of a grin, he holds a noble bearing though his manner is devoid of the arrogance common to many young aristocrats. His gaze shifts from one tablemate to the next as he takes a slow and appreciative sip of his Neverwinter black icewine.
Clad in a worn plate armor but intimidating nonetheless, our adventurer relaxes in his chair. A mug of beer cradled in both of his hands, he sips at the mug while taking in his fellow table mates. His short dark coarse hair frames his face, a face that hinted at noble features with a rough build to it. His eyes carry a weariness uncommon for his young age. He leans back in his chair, stretches his solid legs and absentmindedly grazes at his warhammer resting by his side. The low light of the inn casts a warm glow on his skin, revealing a bronze tan tone.
Seated in - or rather, standing on - one of the chairs is a red-scaled kobold clad in red-and-black robes. Neither the hustle and bustle of the tavern or his own diminutive stature in any way diminish the burning, driven ambition in his eyes. With clawed hands gripping the table, he peers around the tavern, appraising his surroundings and impatient to begin the evening's business.
The DM rolls...
The kobold has the initiative. He may speak, or remain silent.
Ego wins out over patience, and the kobold snarls in frustration:
"Krrrr! Where is job-giver at this time?! Akai is here for fortune! For glory! Not for endless waiting! Will be wasting arcane might on drunkards 'stead of monsters of the deep, this goes on much longer!"
The DM rolls...
The well-dressed human with the aristocratic air has the Initiative. He can respond to Akai's outburst, redirect the conversation, or remain silent and pass his turn.
Idly balancing his wine glass on the point of an index finger, the golden-haired human raises a brow in reaction to the Kobold's outburst. With another sip of wine, his gaze briefly moves about the tavern before returning to his companions. In a mild tone, he inquires of the group, "Has anyone asked Bonnie if Volo is about?"
The fellow with the spectacles has the initiative.