Chadwick puts out the word and several groups attach themselves to you on your trip to Waterdeep. Travel is a bit slower at ox-team pace than horseback pace. But, there is greater safety with increased numbers. All told, it is a two week journey.
Good-byes are said at Jenkins’ Farm. Hap accepts the role of overseeing the beginning construction of your bastions. They also have space to store anything there you would like to stop carrying around.
The evening of the second day of travel, Xymox spots Yartol among the guards hired by the merchants traveling with you. “Guarding one wagon of goods is like guarding any other wagon of goods,” he says in greeting, “I figured joining with one of the caravan with you would give us a chance to talk further.”
The morning road to Waterdeep stretches wide beneath a pale sky, the caravan rolling forward with the slow, purposeful rhythm of long travel. Wagons creak, hooves drum softly against packed earth, and the scent of dew still clings to the canvas-covered loads. The Company rides in loose formation, familiar in silence, focused on the road ahead.
Xymox rides near the center, reins in one hand, the case of his violin slung neatly at his back. He turns slightly in the saddle, cloak shifting with the breeze, and raises his voice—not loudly, but with that effortless clarity that always draws attention.
"Friends. Company. Lend me your ears for a moment—if only so one among us doesn't have to awkwardly reintroduce himself every time we stop for salted pork."
A nod toward the solitary figure riding a little apart, gaze forward and guarded.
"This is Yartol. Some of you may remember him from Monstordrink—a mercenary with the rare talent of keeping quiet in a tavern. We shared wine and conversation more than once, and though he’s not the type to speak without cause, the cause he does carry is worth your hearing."
Xymox’s tone deepens slightly, the lightness giving way to something more grounded.
"He hunts a name: Gryndrenur. A white dragon. Cold, cruel, and deliberate. It took from him someone dear—Allindra. Yartol seeks nothing but the beast’s death. No songs. No statues. Just the clean, final end of a blade buried deep."
He lets that truth hang, his expression unreadable for a moment.
"He believes it will take six to do it—six not driven by gold or glory, but by conviction. He told me of the treasure: a hoard vast enough to satisfy a hundred men. And still, he’d leave it all untouched, if only it meant the wyrm lies still at last."
Xymox casts a glance to each of his companions—his voice now quieter, but no less certain.
"We ride for Waterdeep. That is our purpose now. I told Yartol as much. But I also told him this: when and if the road ahead leads to frost and fire, to dragons and old vengeance, then I would speak for him."
He turns now, fully, and gestures toward Yartol in formal introduction.
"Yartol, these are those I call Company: Sir Chadwick, Knight of Tyr and native son of Monstordrink—his sword is as steady as his word. Kragen, sworn of Tyr and stone of Delhalls, whose hammer speaks with divine clarity. Hoid, a warrior carved from grit and granite, unshaken in storm or siege. Starker, whose mind is as sharp as his magic is wide-reaching—though you’d do well not to mention the monkey. And Trolkarl..."
A brief pause, respectful.
"...who knows the depth of vengeance better than most, and has stood against things that crawl from shadow and flame alike."
Xymox’s gaze lingers a moment longer before he adds, voice softening slightly.
"There are others, absent for now. Gneuman, and his companion Ajax—a fae dragon, if the tales are true. I have not met them, though their deeds echo clearly in the stories this Company tells. I imagine they would listen to your cause, were they here."
He turns his horse slightly, letting the road reclaim their momentum.
"For now, we ride together. And if the day comes when our blades must answer your call… then we will speak again. Not in passing. But with purpose."
And with that, Xymox offers no flourish, no theatrical close—just a quiet return to the rhythm of hooves and breath, the silence of warriors who understand that the most important words are the ones said just once, and meant.
“Well met to all of you. I am Yartol, tracker, warrior, bereaved,” the man in green and brown leather armor responds to Xymox’s introduction. He has a long bow and quiver sheathed in in saddle with a scimitar and short sword in scabbards on his waist. “I am happy to offer my sword and bow for your endeavors as exchange for yours to mine if you wish that.”
"Well met Yartol, it pains me to hear of your loss. I will pray to the Justice Bringer that the bereaved finds peace and you find justice and solace over time." touches The Scales of Justice and bows his head for a moment.
Kragen looks up, staring deeply into Yartol's eyes seeking truth. "We have business to attend in Waterdeep, while we journey, tell us your tale?"
"We would know your story and your metal. I cannot guarantee The Company's support, however i will ask for Tyr's countenance if your tale warrants it."
"Of course, good priest. I will share my tale," he replies. "It is a tale of woe and uncountable loss. As are most tales involving dragons. Save those where the dragon meets its fitting end. But, those are few. Far too few," he says with a long stare to the horizon. He recovers and continues, "We were five. Myself, Allindra a sorceress, Hannik of the north tribes, Elladil from the high forest and champion with the bow and Tali the.....well, she was a thief. Good at it as well. Gryndrenur had been active and a reward was posted for his head by the merchants of Mirabar. His lair is an abandoned dwarf mine in the Spine of the World mountains, difficult to get to. Hannik and I led the way through the frozen lands. His minions at the time were disorganized and easily handled. We struck down ogres, orcs and an ice lizard before facing the dragon itself. It lairs in the grand hall of the dwarves, its treasure frozen into the walls glittering for all to see." He pauses again, seemingly lost in the past. "We nearly won," he says more quietly before another pause. "Everyone fell. Allindra the last. I tried to get to her, but fell through a pit that deposited me deep in the dwarven mine. I could hear the beast eating my friends.....and my love." He stops her for a while. After this he looks to Kragen, "We were very close. Another ally would have turned the tide on the wyrm. If you are capable of the things told about you then the six of us will be enough. I can guide us there and get us inside." He looks Kragen in the eyes, "Then, we send the beast to The Hells."
"We may have already encountered this wyrm before. We were investigating, well that's a another long story in itself, let's just say disturbance few miles outside Shalecliff. It set up when we were at partial strength due to an extended a fight minutes before. Even so, like previous foes it fled rather than face our wrath.
Hoid still offers resentment about the loss of his donkey.
If we're to take this thing on it's going to take some planning. They seem stronger in their lairs so luring it out seems best if we can figure out how to keep it from fleeing."
Chadwick trails off after that seemingly lost in thought strategizing, then refocus.
"I vote we take this foul beast out and end it's tyranny of the folks in the area."
"Gryndrenur isn't smart, but he is cunning," Yartol responds to Chadwick. "If you encountered him outside of his lair then it was on his terms, for sure."
Hoid grumbles under his breath, "Random dragon horse*&^%......Not getting a war ram........made up by some higher power...."
If striking down Gryndenur brings safety to the folk of Mirabar and peace to your memory of Allindra, then I will gladly bring Darkbane to that cause. Let us speak no more of IF, but of HOW. When we reach Waterdeep, I had considered visiting alchemists- but hearing of this- perhaps we should inquire about Frost resistance, and visit other places to inquire about scrolls for means to bind him to the ground, or bring others to fly.
Then after a beat a brief smile and glance toward Hoid. Wanting to lighten the mood for the ride ahead with a jab at the already fired-up dwarf And perhaps Hoid can stop by one of those curiosity shops- see if they have a proper massive sword to avenge his donkey and his pride.
With a bit of our own cunning and better preparation for this round. We can properly kill the thing.
"Ah yes, i do remember that Wyrm! It did snatch our transport mode that day." Looks thoughtfully at Hoid smiling. "As a matter of fact, we do owe that beast some justice. It was not very kind to Donkey."
"I suggest we conduct our business in Waterdeep and determine our next steps. If i remember correctly, both places; where we spotted the White Wyrm and the Map Fragment location, which is north of Raven Rock, are in the Spine of the World."
"If that's our path, i suspect we can procure transport via waterway to Mirabar and head north."
The City of Splendors opens before you. It is a huge city with all manner of peoples and dangers. From the wealthy and nobility of the North and Sea Wards to the filthy and desperate of the Field Ward and the Mistshore, opportunity is ever present.
Houd makes haste to the street of armorers to arrange for repair of his mithril plate. They send him to the tailors to buy a set of clothes when all realize the only thing he has to wear is the plate…..
“Trolark, I agree about stocking up on frost resistance potions and or scrolls. We may consider a couple of scrolls of fireball too (he says with a wink and smile to Starker). Kragen and I (friendly slap on the shoulder) are going to head to Tyr’s temple first and check in. We're not making that mistake again!"
Chadwick will make a donation of 10gp.
"After that perhaps we can visit with our friend Henilen about such magic items. We should also request an audience with Lady Stormrider and see how she’s doing.”
Chadwick gets a wistful look on his face when he mentions her name.
“I might also see about getting some new clothes.”
While at the temple Chadwick will inquire where he might be able to get some barding made for Freya.
Kragen accompanies Sir Chadwick to the "Halls of Justice", sharing pleasantries with the Priesthood and Acolytes, completing daily prayers and tithing (50gp) to the Temple.
"That sounds like a sound idea, i would appreciate visiting with those 2 and seeing how they fare?" in reference to visiting with Henilen and the Lady Arin.
"I have a few spell components i would like to find and also visit the local Arcane store for a few items"
"We also need to secure rooms at an Inn, Mage Starker knows this place better than we." Looks to Starker "And where would you recommend we stay?"
"There is also the task of securing transport north to the spine of the world. Would Mirabar be a good launch point back to that area?"
Chadwick and Kragen meet up with the Hall of Justice and make their donations. They are well received. Chadwick is pointed to the armorers street to have barding fashioned.
Any mundane items listed in the app can be purchased at face value without difficulty. Go ahead and go shopping.
Rooms are secured and the animals boarded at a livery.
How are you going to locate Heninlen and his shop? Also, Lady Stormrider?
As the caravan crests the final rise, and the sweeping vista of Waterdeep unfurls beneath a haze of morning light, Xymox draws his steed to a halt. The Company rides on ahead a few paces, but the Drow bard does not move—not at first. He simply stares.
There, before him, sprawls a city unlike any he has ever imagined.
No cavern roof hangs overhead. No phosphorescent lichen outlines cold stone towers. Instead, the city stretches wide and open beneath the endless sky—a living labyrinth of light and wind and rising stone.
Sprawling wards spiral out from a walled heart, buildings piled on buildings, rooftops like slate waves cresting toward the sea. Flags whip in the wind, street banners dance, and the scent—gods, the scent—is a thousand competing tales: roasted almonds, sea brine, dung, perfume, steel, and something that might be citrus or murder.
Xymox blinks once. Twice. He exhales like a man surfacing from deep water, then speaks softly, almost reverently.
"By the Song Below..."
He says the phrase like a curse and a prayer all at once.
"It’s like someone cast Major Image on a madhouse."
A beat. He nudges his horse forward, voice rising with amazement as he speaks to no one and everyone at once.
"Do you see the height of those towers? I’ve seen noble spires in Menzoberranzan, yes—but those grow like fangs from the stone. These..."
He gestures to the architecture—tiered balconies, domes and wind-spires, bridges between buildings like the delicate bones of flying things.
"...these are dreams made vertical. Who builds a library above a tavern? And why are there so many dogs?"
He ducks slightly as a hawk glides low overhead, eyes widening.
"Skies teeming with birds… and no one panics. Remarkable."
A pause. Then, very softly, with awe and just a little envy:
"So much color. And not a single shadow enclave to be seen."
As the caravan rolls forward through the wide gates of Waterdeep, Xymox pulls his violin from its case and plucks a short melody—then begins to murmur a verse, half to himself, half to the wind:
“The City That Drinks the Sky”
by Xymox Xel’Mizzrym
Where stone has height and towers sing, Where coins and colors dare to cling, Where none look up with fear or plea, But dance beneath eternity—
O City vast, with sky to drink, You pull the stars down, link by link. And I, a shadow come to roam, Now wonder if you’ll make me home.
He lowers the instrument gently, smiling faintly to himself as he rides into Waterdeep—not unguarded, but undeniably changed.
Chadwick looks back at Xymox noticing the look of awe on his face. He remembers back when he first entered Waterdeep on his way to Luskan years ago and how overwhelming it seemed. Now he was, mostly, used to such sights. Coming recently from home he feels nostalgic for those simpler times.
He catches up to Xymox. "I remember my first time here, I couldn't help but stare making me look even more like the country bumpkin I already was. You get used to, but it can take a bit." He says this with a kind smile.
At the temple Chadwick will chat with folks that seem to want to converse. He'll ask around if anyone has heard or seen a white dragon in the area of the spine of the world, and if so try and get any details they may have.
He'll also inquire about any young paladins or fighters that might be willing to become a man-at-arms and eventually take over the garrison at his bastion. Or if there were any that had been wounded or getting to the age where the country side seem preferable to the adventuring life.
Finally he asks if anyone knows the location of a blue skinned trader who runs a curios shop, or a noble named Lady Arin Stormrider. He doesn't go into details their occupations since he doesn't know if they prefer to keep that quiet.
After ascertaining the name and location of the Inn The Company will use as its Windhavian base of operations, Starker visits his parents, who live above his father’s cobbler shop right outside a district where minor nobles congregate. He visits with his parents, gives them 987.3 gp (the amount he figures it cost them to raise him plus generous interest and an assessment of opportunity costs and emotional pain and suffering) and then goes with his mother to the home of her employer, where she works as a day-maid and assistant cook. Her employer was the one who recognized that Starker was, shall we say, unusual and sponsored his application to the academy and paid his tuition. Starker regales him with stories of his adventures and makes him a gift of a manticore spike.
The next day, if nothing else draws him away, he goes to The Academy and meets with Master Charletin, his tutor. They have a long discussion about the technical details of Starker’s progress in evocation. Starker gifts him with an autograph scroll entitled “On the Forced LaMarckian Atainment of Inheritable Attributes in Familiars, Parts I and II.”
Sell swords are easy to find in Waterdeep, Chadwick is told. Finding someone who can be trusted to manage a family estate is another matter. The temple urges you to find someone you know for that job rather than employing a stranger.
White dragon sightings in the Spine of the World are not all that notable. That is where you go to look for white dragons. No useful information is gained.
Asking about Henilen at the temple yields no results. None know of such a person.
Lady Arin Stormrider is well known. The Stormriders have a large villa in the Sea Ward. Very wealthy. "How do you know Lady Stormrider...?," Chadwick is asked.
Starker goes to visit his parents. They are over the moon to have their son home. Both welcome you in, with only a small glance to your staff. These are things they grew accustomed to in your youth. Cyrus is immediately doted upon and given FRESH mango to eat. He makes a fool of himself downing it, as usual. Your parents try to decline the sack of coin. "Son, you do not owe us for raising you. We are blessed to have you in our lives," your mother tells you.
Lord Brightbow is pleased to see you again. He invites you and your mother to join he and his wife in their parlor for wine and pleasantries. He is intrigued by your gift of the manticore spike and accepts it graciously.
Master Charletin is surprised to see you. "Starker! What a wonderful surprise. I did not think you to be one who looked to the past.......How good it is to see you again. How have your travels treated you?," he begins. He is pleased to see all that you have accomplished and offers you a tidbit or two on your techniques with somatic components. He accepts your gifted scroll, "I look forward to reading your research."
Starker to his mother:”I recently came into a frankly ridiculous amount of money and treasure. It literally weighs me down. Please accept it. Doing so will satisfy my sense of fair play and justice, and you know how I can get when that sense is not satisfied.
”If you would like to meet The Company, currently comprised of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, perhaps you and Father could meet us at our Inn for supper? They are interesting as individuals and absolutely unique as a constellation of character or syzygy of psyche.”
Your mother listens to you and allows you to finish, "Starker, Honey. I'm sure that all of those things you said are actual words and each one has some very clever meaning. We would very much like to meet your friends and colleagues. I will tell your father when we get home and we will see you tonight."
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The City of Splendors
Waterdeep Details
Chadwick puts out the word and several groups attach themselves to you on your trip to Waterdeep. Travel is a bit slower at ox-team pace than horseback pace. But, there is greater safety with increased numbers. All told, it is a two week journey.
Good-byes are said at Jenkins’ Farm. Hap accepts the role of overseeing the beginning construction of your bastions. They also have space to store anything there you would like to stop carrying around.
The evening of the second day of travel, Xymox spots Yartol among the guards hired by the merchants traveling with you. “Guarding one wagon of goods is like guarding any other wagon of goods,” he says in greeting, “I figured joining with one of the caravan with you would give us a chance to talk further.”
The morning road to Waterdeep stretches wide beneath a pale sky, the caravan rolling forward with the slow, purposeful rhythm of long travel. Wagons creak, hooves drum softly against packed earth, and the scent of dew still clings to the canvas-covered loads. The Company rides in loose formation, familiar in silence, focused on the road ahead.
Xymox rides near the center, reins in one hand, the case of his violin slung neatly at his back. He turns slightly in the saddle, cloak shifting with the breeze, and raises his voice—not loudly, but with that effortless clarity that always draws attention.
"Friends. Company. Lend me your ears for a moment—if only so one among us doesn't have to awkwardly reintroduce himself every time we stop for salted pork."
A nod toward the solitary figure riding a little apart, gaze forward and guarded.
"This is Yartol. Some of you may remember him from Monstordrink—a mercenary with the rare talent of keeping quiet in a tavern. We shared wine and conversation more than once, and though he’s not the type to speak without cause, the cause he does carry is worth your hearing."
Xymox’s tone deepens slightly, the lightness giving way to something more grounded.
"He hunts a name: Gryndrenur. A white dragon. Cold, cruel, and deliberate. It took from him someone dear—Allindra. Yartol seeks nothing but the beast’s death. No songs. No statues. Just the clean, final end of a blade buried deep."
He lets that truth hang, his expression unreadable for a moment.
"He believes it will take six to do it—six not driven by gold or glory, but by conviction. He told me of the treasure: a hoard vast enough to satisfy a hundred men. And still, he’d leave it all untouched, if only it meant the wyrm lies still at last."
Xymox casts a glance to each of his companions—his voice now quieter, but no less certain.
"We ride for Waterdeep. That is our purpose now. I told Yartol as much. But I also told him this: when and if the road ahead leads to frost and fire, to dragons and old vengeance, then I would speak for him."
He turns now, fully, and gestures toward Yartol in formal introduction.
"Yartol, these are those I call Company: Sir Chadwick, Knight of Tyr and native son of Monstordrink—his sword is as steady as his word. Kragen, sworn of Tyr and stone of Delhalls, whose hammer speaks with divine clarity. Hoid, a warrior carved from grit and granite, unshaken in storm or siege. Starker, whose mind is as sharp as his magic is wide-reaching—though you’d do well not to mention the monkey. And Trolkarl..."
A brief pause, respectful.
"...who knows the depth of vengeance better than most, and has stood against things that crawl from shadow and flame alike."
Xymox’s gaze lingers a moment longer before he adds, voice softening slightly.
"There are others, absent for now. Gneuman, and his companion Ajax—a fae dragon, if the tales are true. I have not met them, though their deeds echo clearly in the stories this Company tells. I imagine they would listen to your cause, were they here."
He turns his horse slightly, letting the road reclaim their momentum.
"For now, we ride together. And if the day comes when our blades must answer your call… then we will speak again. Not in passing. But with purpose."
And with that, Xymox offers no flourish, no theatrical close—just a quiet return to the rhythm of hooves and breath, the silence of warriors who understand that the most important words are the ones said just once, and meant.
“Well met to all of you. I am Yartol, tracker, warrior, bereaved,” the man in green and brown leather armor responds to Xymox’s introduction. He has a long bow and quiver sheathed in in saddle with a scimitar and short sword in scabbards on his waist. “I am happy to offer my sword and bow for your endeavors as exchange for yours to mine if you wish that.”
"Well met Yartol, it pains me to hear of your loss. I will pray to the Justice Bringer that the bereaved finds peace and you find justice and solace over time." touches The Scales of Justice and bows his head for a moment.
Kragen looks up, staring deeply into Yartol's eyes seeking truth. "We have business to attend in Waterdeep, while we journey, tell us your tale?"
"We would know your story and your metal. I cannot guarantee The Company's support, however i will ask for Tyr's countenance if your tale warrants it."
"Of course, good priest. I will share my tale," he replies. "It is a tale of woe and uncountable loss. As are most tales involving dragons. Save those where the dragon meets its fitting end. But, those are few. Far too few," he says with a long stare to the horizon. He recovers and continues, "We were five. Myself, Allindra a sorceress, Hannik of the north tribes, Elladil from the high forest and champion with the bow and Tali the.....well, she was a thief. Good at it as well. Gryndrenur had been active and a reward was posted for his head by the merchants of Mirabar. His lair is an abandoned dwarf mine in the Spine of the World mountains, difficult to get to. Hannik and I led the way through the frozen lands. His minions at the time were disorganized and easily handled. We struck down ogres, orcs and an ice lizard before facing the dragon itself. It lairs in the grand hall of the dwarves, its treasure frozen into the walls glittering for all to see." He pauses again, seemingly lost in the past. "We nearly won," he says more quietly before another pause. "Everyone fell. Allindra the last. I tried to get to her, but fell through a pit that deposited me deep in the dwarven mine. I could hear the beast eating my friends.....and my love." He stops her for a while. After this he looks to Kragen, "We were very close. Another ally would have turned the tide on the wyrm. If you are capable of the things told about you then the six of us will be enough. I can guide us there and get us inside." He looks Kragen in the eyes, "Then, we send the beast to The Hells."
"We may have already encountered this wyrm before. We were investigating, well that's a another long story in itself, let's just say disturbance few miles outside Shalecliff. It set up when we were at partial strength due to an extended a fight minutes before. Even so, like previous foes it fled rather than face our wrath.
Hoid still offers resentment about the loss of his donkey.
If we're to take this thing on it's going to take some planning. They seem stronger in their lairs so luring it out seems best if we can figure out how to keep it from fleeing."
Chadwick trails off after that seemingly lost in thought strategizing, then refocus.
"I vote we take this foul beast out and end it's tyranny of the folks in the area."
"Gryndrenur isn't smart, but he is cunning," Yartol responds to Chadwick. "If you encountered him outside of his lair then it was on his terms, for sure."
Hoid grumbles under his breath, "Random dragon horse*&^%......Not getting a war ram........made up by some higher power...."
Well spoken, Yartol.
If striking down Gryndenur brings safety to the folk of Mirabar and peace to your memory of Allindra, then I will gladly bring Darkbane to that cause.
Let us speak no more of IF, but of HOW.
When we reach Waterdeep, I had considered visiting alchemists- but hearing of this- perhaps we should inquire about Frost resistance, and visit other places to inquire about scrolls for means to bind him to the ground, or bring others to fly.
Then after a beat a brief smile and glance toward Hoid. Wanting to lighten the mood for the ride ahead with a jab at the already fired-up dwarf
And perhaps Hoid can stop by one of those curiosity shops- see if they have a proper massive sword to avenge his donkey and his pride.
With a bit of our own cunning and better preparation for this round. We can properly kill the thing.
"Ah yes, i do remember that Wyrm! It did snatch our transport mode that day." Looks thoughtfully at Hoid smiling. "As a matter of fact, we do owe that beast some justice. It was not very kind to Donkey."
"I suggest we conduct our business in Waterdeep and determine our next steps. If i remember correctly, both places; where we spotted the White Wyrm and the Map Fragment location, which is north of Raven Rock, are in the Spine of the World."
"If that's our path, i suspect we can procure transport via waterway to Mirabar and head north."
The City of Splendors opens before you. It is a huge city with all manner of peoples and dangers. From the wealthy and nobility of the North and Sea Wards to the filthy and desperate of the Field Ward and the Mistshore, opportunity is ever present.
Houd makes haste to the street of armorers to arrange for repair of his mithril plate. They send him to the tailors to buy a set of clothes when all realize the only thing he has to wear is the plate…..
“Trolark, I agree about stocking up on frost resistance potions and or scrolls. We may consider a couple of scrolls of fireball too (he says with a wink and smile to Starker). Kragen and I (friendly slap on the shoulder) are going to head to Tyr’s temple first and check in. We're not making that mistake again!"
Chadwick will make a donation of 10gp.
"After that perhaps we can visit with our friend Henilen about such magic items. We should also request an audience with Lady Stormrider and see how she’s doing.”
Chadwick gets a wistful look on his face when he mentions her name.
“I might also see about getting some new clothes.”
While at the temple Chadwick will inquire where he might be able to get some barding made for Freya.
Kragen accompanies Sir Chadwick to the "Halls of Justice", sharing pleasantries with the Priesthood and Acolytes, completing daily prayers and tithing (50gp) to the Temple.
"That sounds like a sound idea, i would appreciate visiting with those 2 and seeing how they fare?" in reference to visiting with Henilen and the Lady Arin.
"I have a few spell components i would like to find and also visit the local Arcane store for a few items"
"We also need to secure rooms at an Inn, Mage Starker knows this place better than we." Looks to Starker "And where would you recommend we stay?"
"There is also the task of securing transport north to the spine of the world. Would Mirabar be a good launch point back to that area?"
Chadwick and Kragen meet up with the Hall of Justice and make their donations. They are well received. Chadwick is pointed to the armorers street to have barding fashioned.
Any mundane items listed in the app can be purchased at face value without difficulty. Go ahead and go shopping.
Rooms are secured and the animals boarded at a livery.
How are you going to locate Heninlen and his shop? Also, Lady Stormrider?
As the caravan crests the final rise, and the sweeping vista of Waterdeep unfurls beneath a haze of morning light, Xymox draws his steed to a halt. The Company rides on ahead a few paces, but the Drow bard does not move—not at first. He simply stares.
There, before him, sprawls a city unlike any he has ever imagined.
No cavern roof hangs overhead. No phosphorescent lichen outlines cold stone towers. Instead, the city stretches wide and open beneath the endless sky—a living labyrinth of light and wind and rising stone.
Sprawling wards spiral out from a walled heart, buildings piled on buildings, rooftops like slate waves cresting toward the sea. Flags whip in the wind, street banners dance, and the scent—gods, the scent—is a thousand competing tales: roasted almonds, sea brine, dung, perfume, steel, and something that might be citrus or murder.
Xymox blinks once. Twice. He exhales like a man surfacing from deep water, then speaks softly, almost reverently.
"By the Song Below..."
He says the phrase like a curse and a prayer all at once.
"It’s like someone cast Major Image on a madhouse."
A beat. He nudges his horse forward, voice rising with amazement as he speaks to no one and everyone at once.
"Do you see the height of those towers? I’ve seen noble spires in Menzoberranzan, yes—but those grow like fangs from the stone. These..."
He gestures to the architecture—tiered balconies, domes and wind-spires, bridges between buildings like the delicate bones of flying things.
"...these are dreams made vertical. Who builds a library above a tavern? And why are there so many dogs?"
He ducks slightly as a hawk glides low overhead, eyes widening.
"Skies teeming with birds… and no one panics. Remarkable."
A pause. Then, very softly, with awe and just a little envy:
"So much color. And not a single shadow enclave to be seen."
As the caravan rolls forward through the wide gates of Waterdeep, Xymox pulls his violin from its case and plucks a short melody—then begins to murmur a verse, half to himself, half to the wind:
“The City That Drinks the Sky”
by Xymox Xel’Mizzrym
He lowers the instrument gently, smiling faintly to himself as he rides into Waterdeep—not unguarded, but undeniably changed.
Chadwick looks back at Xymox noticing the look of awe on his face. He remembers back when he first entered Waterdeep on his way to Luskan years ago and how overwhelming it seemed. Now he was, mostly, used to such sights. Coming recently from home he feels nostalgic for those simpler times.
He catches up to Xymox.
"I remember my first time here, I couldn't help but stare making me look even more like the country bumpkin I already was. You get used to, but it can take a bit." He says this with a kind smile.
At the temple Chadwick will chat with folks that seem to want to converse. He'll ask around if anyone has heard or seen a white dragon in the area of the spine of the world, and if so try and get any details they may have.
He'll also inquire about any young paladins or fighters that might be willing to become a man-at-arms and eventually take over the garrison at his bastion. Or if there were any that had been wounded or getting to the age where the country side seem preferable to the adventuring life.
Finally he asks if anyone knows the location of a blue skinned trader who runs a curios shop, or a noble named Lady Arin Stormrider. He doesn't go into details their occupations since he doesn't know if they prefer to keep that quiet.
After ascertaining the name and location of the Inn The Company will use as its Windhavian base of operations, Starker visits his parents, who live above his father’s cobbler shop right outside a district where minor nobles congregate. He visits with his parents, gives them 987.3 gp (the amount he figures it cost them to raise him plus generous interest and an assessment of opportunity costs and emotional pain and suffering) and then goes with his mother to the home of her employer, where she works as a day-maid and assistant cook. Her employer was the one who recognized that Starker was, shall we say, unusual and sponsored his application to the academy and paid his tuition. Starker regales him with stories of his adventures and makes him a gift of a manticore spike.
The next day, if nothing else draws him away, he goes to The Academy and meets with Master Charletin, his tutor. They have a long discussion about the technical details of Starker’s progress in evocation. Starker gifts him with an autograph scroll entitled “On the Forced LaMarckian Atainment of Inheritable Attributes in Familiars, Parts I and II.”
Sell swords are easy to find in Waterdeep, Chadwick is told. Finding someone who can be trusted to manage a family estate is another matter. The temple urges you to find someone you know for that job rather than employing a stranger.
White dragon sightings in the Spine of the World are not all that notable. That is where you go to look for white dragons. No useful information is gained.
Asking about Henilen at the temple yields no results. None know of such a person.
Lady Arin Stormrider is well known. The Stormriders have a large villa in the Sea Ward. Very wealthy. "How do you know Lady Stormrider...?," Chadwick is asked.
Starker goes to visit his parents. They are over the moon to have their son home. Both welcome you in, with only a small glance to your staff. These are things they grew accustomed to in your youth. Cyrus is immediately doted upon and given FRESH mango to eat. He makes a fool of himself downing it, as usual. Your parents try to decline the sack of coin. "Son, you do not owe us for raising you. We are blessed to have you in our lives," your mother tells you.
Lord Brightbow is pleased to see you again. He invites you and your mother to join he and his wife in their parlor for wine and pleasantries. He is intrigued by your gift of the manticore spike and accepts it graciously.
Master Charletin is surprised to see you. "Starker! What a wonderful surprise. I did not think you to be one who looked to the past.......How good it is to see you again. How have your travels treated you?," he begins. He is pleased to see all that you have accomplished and offers you a tidbit or two on your techniques with somatic components. He accepts your gifted scroll, "I look forward to reading your research."
Starker to his mother:”I recently came into a frankly ridiculous amount of money and treasure. It literally weighs me down. Please accept it. Doing so will satisfy my sense of fair play and justice, and you know how I can get when that sense is not satisfied.
”If you would like to meet The Company, currently comprised of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, perhaps you and Father could meet us at our Inn for supper? They are interesting as individuals and absolutely unique as a constellation of character or syzygy of psyche.”
Your mother listens to you and allows you to finish, "Starker, Honey. I'm sure that all of those things you said are actual words and each one has some very clever meaning. We would very much like to meet your friends and colleagues. I will tell your father when we get home and we will see you tonight."