Once you find a table big enough for everyone the figure who approached you sits down, strokes his mustache, adjusts his floppy hat, and tightens his scarf. “Volothamp Geddarm, chronicler, wizard, and celebrity, at your service. I trust you’ve noted the violence in our fair city these past tendays. I haven’t seen so much blood since my last visit to Baldur’s Gate! But now I fear I have misplaced a friend amid this odious malevolence.
“My friend’s name is Floon Blagmaar. He’s got more beauty than brains, and I worry he took a bad way home a couple nights ago and was kidnapped — or worse. If you agree to track him down with all due haste, I can offer you ten dragons apiece now, and I can give you each ten times that when you find Floon. May I prevail upon you in my hour of need?”
Abishai sits at the table across from our new patron. "A pleasure to meet you Mr. Geddarm. I'm familiar with your scholarly works. Quite impressive, I must say. The increased violence is concerning. Do you have any idea what is causing it? The pay sounds fair. Can you tell us where Mr. Blagmaar was last seen? Perhaps we should start our investigation there."
"A kidnapping? Why wasn't this reported to the city watch?" He glances down at the paper with the thugs, and takes Abishai's words into some consideration, but shakes his head. "Regardless if this job is more suited for adventurers, I feel I am still under obligation to ensure the law is kept." He hands Abishai back his bottle and quill. He glances at Rydar. "However, it isn't in my place to prevent any of you to take up the offer, so I suggest we work together on this."
Abishai's demeanor suggests he appreciates Bjorn's willingness to collaborate with those not in the city watch. He takes back his ink and quill, grateful it was returned to him quickly.
Ryder listens intently, and when it becomes clear that this is a tracking quest, he clears his throat. “I know these city streets quite well from some of my…” He glances quickly at Bjorn, “adventures. Especially the so called ‘bad roads.’ I’m sure I could track your friend down.”
Abishai's eyebrows raise as Ryder mentions confidence in his tracking skills and thinks, 'Well, that's good because that isn't something I've learned to do.' He smiles as it becomes clear this group can work together to tackle this challenge.
"A kidnapping? Why wasn't this reported to the city watch?" He glances down at the paper with the thugs, and takes Abishai's words into some consideration, but shakes his head. "Regardless if this job is more suited for adventurers, I feel I am still under obligation to ensure the law is kept." He hands Abishai back his bottle and quill. He glances at Rydar. "However, it isn't in my place to prevent any of you to take up the offer, so I suggest we work together on this."
Volothamp sighs, running a hand through his well-groomed mustache as he listens. “A kidnapping? Why wasn’t this reported to the City Watch?” His tone is more exasperated than accusatory, as if the answer is already clear to him.
Shaking his head, he lets out a weary chuckle. “Look, I understand your concerns, truly. But have you seen the state of Waterdeep lately? The Watch has its hands full—Xanathar’s lot and the Zhents are at each other’s throats, bodies turning up in the streets. If I went to them with a report of a single missing man, they’d pat me on the back and tell me he’s probably in a tavern somewhere, sleeping off a bad bet.” His expression turns serious, his worry clear. “But I know Floon. Something’s wrong. And if the Watch won’t take this seriously, I need people who will.”
Once you find a table big enough for everyone the figure who approached you sits down, strokes his mustache, adjusts his floppy hat, and tightens his scarf. “Volothamp Geddarm, chronicler, wizard, and celebrity, at your service. I trust you’ve noted the violence in our fair city these past tendays. I haven’t seen so much blood since my last visit to Baldur’s Gate! But now I fear I have misplaced a friend amid this odious malevolence.
“My friend’s name is Floon Blagmaar. He’s got more beauty than brains, and I worry he took a bad way home a couple nights ago and was kidnapped — or worse. If you agree to track him down with all due haste, I can offer you ten dragons apiece now, and I can give you each ten times that when you find Floon. May I prevail upon you in my hour of need?”
Abishai sits at the table across from our new patron. "A pleasure to meet you Mr. Geddarm. I'm familiar with your scholarly works. Quite impressive, I must say. The increased violence is concerning. Do you have any idea what is causing it? The pay sounds fair. Can you tell us where Mr. Blagmaar was last seen? Perhaps we should start our investigation there."
"A kidnapping? Why wasn't this reported to the city watch?" He glances down at the paper with the thugs, and takes Abishai's words into some consideration, but shakes his head. "Regardless if this job is more suited for adventurers, I feel I am still under obligation to ensure the law is kept." He hands Abishai back his bottle and quill. He glances at Rydar. "However, it isn't in my place to prevent any of you to take up the offer, so I suggest we work together on this."
Abishai's demeanor suggests he appreciates Bjorn's willingness to collaborate with those not in the city watch. He takes back his ink and quill, grateful it was returned to him quickly.
Volo’s face instantly brightens the moment someone recognizes him for his scholarly work. His posture straightens, and a broad, self-satisfied grin spreads across his face. He adjusts his flamboyant hat with a flourish, as if preparing for applause. “Ah! A learned individual! A fellow appreciator of knowledge and culture! Always delightful to meet an admirer of my humble contributions to the world’s understanding of its wonders.” His chest puffs up slightly, clearly relishing the attention.
After a moment of basking in the praise, he clears his throat and shifts back to the matter at hand, though his grin remains firmly in place. “Now, as I was saying—beset by that most dreadful of afflictions, writer’s block, I sought inspiration in the only way a man of letters can—over drinks and good company. Two nights ago, I met my dear friend Floon Blagmaar at the Skewered Dragon. We drank, we gambled, enjoyed fine conversation.” His expression darkens slightly, and the confidence in his voice falters just a bit. “And then I left for the evening, while he… stayed behind.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “That was the last I saw of him. And now, I fear for his safety.”
Despite his usual theatricality, there’s genuine worry beneath his words.
As the conversation unfolds, Volo listens attentively, nodding along to each remark with an expression that shifts between concern and anticipation, his eyes flicking between each speaker as he takes in their thoughts and observations.
Then, as the discussion builds toward action, his demeanor shifts—his fingers drum lightly on the table, and the corners of his mustache twitch with excitement. The worry in his face gives way to relief and enthusiasm, as if he’s just struck gold in a forgotten ruin. “Ah-ha! Yes, yes! This is exactly what I was hoping for—a capable group, ready to act where bureaucracy drags its heels.” He leans forward, hands clasped together. “I can see it now—brave adventurers and a member of the city watch, unraveling a mystery, facing danger head-on! Oh, how I envy the tales you’ll have to tell.”
His eagerness is unmistakable—he truly believes he’s found the right people for the job.
"What does Floon look like? Any details? He turns the paper over and grabs at empty air, seemingly forgetting that he handed the quill and ink back to Abishai.
Volo leans forward, his usual flamboyance tempered by concern. “Floon Blagmaar… he’s a good man, truly. Handsome, in his early thirties, with wavy red-blond hair that always seems effortlessly styled. He carries himself with a certain charm, the kind that turns heads, though I fear that may have worked against him.”
His fingers tap anxiously on the table as he exhales. “When I last saw him, he was dressed in princely garb—fine fabrics, rich colors, looking every bit the noble he is not. It suited him, of course, but in a city like this? That kind of appearance can draw the wrong kind of attention.” He shakes his head, worry creasing his brow. “I just hope we’re not too late.”
As Volo's concern bleeds into his communication, Abishai reassures him, "We will find out what happened to Mr. Blagmaar. Count on that." He waits for Volo to provide the downpayment and then turns to the rest of the group asking, "Should we head out now? It sounds like time is short."
Murgen nods quietly as Volo talks about his missing friend. He especially perks up when Volo mentions the Zhents and Xanathar's gangs going at it. Hm... that would explain some of the mess around town and why so many mercs are on edge. I wonder if one of them could have been behind what happened to the company? Worth checking in on. As the others begin to agree to help Murgen says, "Aye we can find him. He wasn't associated with either of those gangs right? Any one he has had issues with recently?"
Murgen nods quietly as Volo talks about his missing friend. He especially perks up when Volo mentions the Zhents and Xanathar's gangs going at it. Hm... that would explain some of the mess around town and why so many mercs are on edge. I wonder if one of them could have been behind what happened to the company? Worth checking in on. As the others begin to agree to help Murgen says, "Aye we can find him. He wasn't associated with either of those gangs right? Any one he has had issues with recently?"
Volo shakes his head quickly, his expression somewhere between certainty and worry. “No, no—at least, not to my knowledge. Floon isn’t the sort to get tangled up in that kind of business. He enjoys the finer things—good drink, good company, a few harmless wagers—but he’s no criminal, nor does he have the stomach for gang politics.”
He exhales, rubbing his temple as if trying to convince himself. “That said… this city has a way of pulling people into its troubles whether they ask for it or not. If he got caught up in something, it wasn’t by choice.” His gaze flickers with unease before he steels himself. “Which is why I need you to find him—before whatever mess he stumbled into gets worse.”
Volo reaches into his coat with a flourish, retrieving a well-worn coin purse. With a dramatic sigh, he turns it over, letting the gold spill onto the table. The coins clatter as he carefully counts them, producing the exact amount he had promised as a down payment. Once satisfied, he slides the stacks of gold toward the group and offers a firm nod. "Consider this a token of my trust," he says, tapping the now empty purse against his palm before tucking it away. "Find Floon, and there will be more where that came from."
With business settled, the group rises, ready to begin their search. As they make their way toward the door, Durnan offers a parting wave from behind the bar. "Stay out of trouble," he calls gruffly, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Around the room, familiar faces—Yagra, Obaya - give small nods or raise their drinks in farewell. The Yawning Portal hums back to life as if the night’s earlier chaos had never happened.
Stepping out into the cool evening air, the group turns south toward the Dock Ward, following the guidance of Bjorn and Ryder, who know the city’s streets well. Their path is clear—Net Street, then Fillet Lane, a short fifteen-minute walk to the Skewered Dragon.
But as they round a corner into the Dock Ward, the mood shifts.
Ahead, a City Watch barricade blocks the street. The dim lantern light reveals a grisly sight—half a dozen corpses strewn across the cobblestones, the aftermath of what was clearly a violent skirmish. Watch officers move methodically, questioning bystanders while three blood-drenched men, already disarmed and restrained, stand under heavy guard.
The Watch is occupied, but the scene is clear—violence is spilling into the streets of Waterdeep, and the group has walked straight into its wake.
Abishai nods appreciatively as he accepts ten gold pieces from Volo and moves with the rest of the group. He's glad at least one person in the group knows the city well and can lead them to their destination. He doesn't mind Bjorn taking the lead in talking to the watchmen and watches their interaction with interest. However, he can't help but begin to investigate the area around them for clues as to what happened here and why.
Pondering, Murgen thanks Volo and reassures him that they will find Floon. As the group leaves the tavern he asks them, "Any of you have run ins with Xanthar's crew or the Zhents before? My company had some dealings with the Zhents before but I was never privy to any details about them. Both sides are getting awfully bold with all this drama. Even having a fight break out in the middle of the Yawning Portal." He shakes his head. "What is Waterdeep coming to?" Almost as if on cue, he glances up and sees the city watch. Quickly he steals a glance at the bloodied men to see if he can tell who they are.
"What's all this then?" Bjorn says gruffly, approaching his fellow watchmen. He looks at the restrained culprits with pure disgust.
The Watch guard eyes the approaching group and immediately recognizes Bjorn as one of their own. With a tired grunt, he answers, “Haven’t been near the Dock Ward lately, huh? Just another dust-up between Xanathar’s boys and the Zhents. Same old, same old.”
Pondering, Murgen thanks Volo and reassures him that they will find Floon. As the group leaves the tavern he asks them, "Any of you have run ins with Xanthar's crew or the Zhents before? My company had some dealings with the Zhents before but I was never privy to any details about them. Both sides are getting awfully bold with all this drama. Even having a fight break out in the middle of the Yawning Portal." He shakes his head. "What is Waterdeep coming to?" Almost as if on cue, he glances up and sees the city watch. Quickly he steals a glance at the bloodied men to see if he can tell who they are.
The scene tells the rest of the story. Scattered weapons, bodies cooling on the cobblestones, and the lingering tension in the air. The unarmed thugs, already shackled and waiting to be hauled off, glare at their captors with undiluted rage—the kind that doesn’t come from magic or dark forces, just the mundane, all-too-human kind of hate. The witnesses’ murmurs confirm the same: no sorcery, no summoning—just another bloody chapter in the turf war spilling into Waterdeep’s streets.
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Abishai sits at the table across from our new patron. "A pleasure to meet you Mr. Geddarm. I'm familiar with your scholarly works. Quite impressive, I must say. The increased violence is concerning. Do you have any idea what is causing it? The pay sounds fair. Can you tell us where Mr. Blagmaar was last seen? Perhaps we should start our investigation there."
Abishai's demeanor suggests he appreciates Bjorn's willingness to collaborate with those not in the city watch. He takes back his ink and quill, grateful it was returned to him quickly.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Ryder listens intently, and when it becomes clear that this is a tracking quest, he clears his throat. “I know these city streets quite well from some of my…” He glances quickly at Bjorn, “adventures. Especially the so called ‘bad roads.’ I’m sure I could track your friend down.”
[A paper drops out of a flash of light and drifts to the ground at your feet] -(extended sig)-
Abishai's eyebrows raise as Ryder mentions confidence in his tracking skills and thinks, 'Well, that's good because that isn't something I've learned to do.' He smiles as it becomes clear this group can work together to tackle this challenge.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Josef listens with interest, I'd like to help as well. Don't really know my way around though, they didn't like me leaving the temple often.
Volothamp sighs, running a hand through his well-groomed mustache as he listens. “A kidnapping? Why wasn’t this reported to the City Watch?” His tone is more exasperated than accusatory, as if the answer is already clear to him.
Shaking his head, he lets out a weary chuckle. “Look, I understand your concerns, truly. But have you seen the state of Waterdeep lately? The Watch has its hands full—Xanathar’s lot and the Zhents are at each other’s throats, bodies turning up in the streets. If I went to them with a report of a single missing man, they’d pat me on the back and tell me he’s probably in a tavern somewhere, sleeping off a bad bet.” His expression turns serious, his worry clear. “But I know Floon. Something’s wrong. And if the Watch won’t take this seriously, I need people who will.”
Volo’s face instantly brightens the moment someone recognizes him for his scholarly work. His posture straightens, and a broad, self-satisfied grin spreads across his face. He adjusts his flamboyant hat with a flourish, as if preparing for applause. “Ah! A learned individual! A fellow appreciator of knowledge and culture! Always delightful to meet an admirer of my humble contributions to the world’s understanding of its wonders.” His chest puffs up slightly, clearly relishing the attention.
After a moment of basking in the praise, he clears his throat and shifts back to the matter at hand, though his grin remains firmly in place. “Now, as I was saying—beset by that most dreadful of afflictions, writer’s block, I sought inspiration in the only way a man of letters can—over drinks and good company. Two nights ago, I met my dear friend Floon Blagmaar at the Skewered Dragon. We drank, we gambled, enjoyed fine conversation.” His expression darkens slightly, and the confidence in his voice falters just a bit. “And then I left for the evening, while he… stayed behind.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “That was the last I saw of him. And now, I fear for his safety.”
Despite his usual theatricality, there’s genuine worry beneath his words.
As the conversation unfolds, Volo listens attentively, nodding along to each remark with an expression that shifts between concern and anticipation, his eyes flicking between each speaker as he takes in their thoughts and observations.
Then, as the discussion builds toward action, his demeanor shifts—his fingers drum lightly on the table, and the corners of his mustache twitch with excitement. The worry in his face gives way to relief and enthusiasm, as if he’s just struck gold in a forgotten ruin. “Ah-ha! Yes, yes! This is exactly what I was hoping for—a capable group, ready to act where bureaucracy drags its heels.” He leans forward, hands clasped together. “I can see it now—brave adventurers and a member of the city watch, unraveling a mystery, facing danger head-on! Oh, how I envy the tales you’ll have to tell.”
His eagerness is unmistakable—he truly believes he’s found the right people for the job.
"What does Floon look like? Any details? He turns the paper over and grabs at empty air, seemingly forgetting that he handed the quill and ink back to Abishai.
Volo leans forward, his usual flamboyance tempered by concern. “Floon Blagmaar… he’s a good man, truly. Handsome, in his early thirties, with wavy red-blond hair that always seems effortlessly styled. He carries himself with a certain charm, the kind that turns heads, though I fear that may have worked against him.”
His fingers tap anxiously on the table as he exhales. “When I last saw him, he was dressed in princely garb—fine fabrics, rich colors, looking every bit the noble he is not. It suited him, of course, but in a city like this? That kind of appearance can draw the wrong kind of attention.” He shakes his head, worry creasing his brow. “I just hope we’re not too late.”
As Volo's concern bleeds into his communication, Abishai reassures him, "We will find out what happened to Mr. Blagmaar. Count on that." He waits for Volo to provide the downpayment and then turns to the rest of the group asking, "Should we head out now? It sounds like time is short."
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
At Abishai's suggestion, Yes, yes indeed. To this Skewered Dragon? He looks to Bjorn, might you know the way?
Murgen nods quietly as Volo talks about his missing friend. He especially perks up when Volo mentions the Zhents and Xanathar's gangs going at it. Hm... that would explain some of the mess around town and why so many mercs are on edge. I wonder if one of them could have been behind what happened to the company? Worth checking in on. As the others begin to agree to help Murgen says, "Aye we can find him. He wasn't associated with either of those gangs right? Any one he has had issues with recently?"
"Course I know. I know the area like the back of my hand." Bjorn replies, before Murgen's inquiry
[A paper drops out of a flash of light and drifts to the ground at your feet] -(extended sig)-
Volo shakes his head quickly, his expression somewhere between certainty and worry. “No, no—at least, not to my knowledge. Floon isn’t the sort to get tangled up in that kind of business. He enjoys the finer things—good drink, good company, a few harmless wagers—but he’s no criminal, nor does he have the stomach for gang politics.”
He exhales, rubbing his temple as if trying to convince himself. “That said… this city has a way of pulling people into its troubles whether they ask for it or not. If he got caught up in something, it wasn’t by choice.” His gaze flickers with unease before he steels himself. “Which is why I need you to find him—before whatever mess he stumbled into gets worse.”
Volo reaches into his coat with a flourish, retrieving a well-worn coin purse. With a dramatic sigh, he turns it over, letting the gold spill onto the table. The coins clatter as he carefully counts them, producing the exact amount he had promised as a down payment. Once satisfied, he slides the stacks of gold toward the group and offers a firm nod. "Consider this a token of my trust," he says, tapping the now empty purse against his palm before tucking it away. "Find Floon, and there will be more where that came from."
With business settled, the group rises, ready to begin their search. As they make their way toward the door, Durnan offers a parting wave from behind the bar. "Stay out of trouble," he calls gruffly, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Around the room, familiar faces—Yagra, Obaya - give small nods or raise their drinks in farewell. The Yawning Portal hums back to life as if the night’s earlier chaos had never happened.
Stepping out into the cool evening air, the group turns south toward the Dock Ward, following the guidance of Bjorn and Ryder, who know the city’s streets well. Their path is clear—Net Street, then Fillet Lane, a short fifteen-minute walk to the Skewered Dragon.
But as they round a corner into the Dock Ward, the mood shifts.
Ahead, a City Watch barricade blocks the street. The dim lantern light reveals a grisly sight—half a dozen corpses strewn across the cobblestones, the aftermath of what was clearly a violent skirmish. Watch officers move methodically, questioning bystanders while three blood-drenched men, already disarmed and restrained, stand under heavy guard.
The Watch is occupied, but the scene is clear—violence is spilling into the streets of Waterdeep, and the group has walked straight into its wake.
"What's all this then?" Bjorn says gruffly, approaching his fellow watchmen. He looks at the restrained culprits with pure disgust.
Abishai nods appreciatively as he accepts ten gold pieces from Volo and moves with the rest of the group. He's glad at least one person in the group knows the city well and can lead them to their destination. He doesn't mind Bjorn taking the lead in talking to the watchmen and watches their interaction with interest. However, he can't help but begin to investigate the area around them for clues as to what happened here and why.
Investigation: Nat. 20+5=25
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Pondering, Murgen thanks Volo and reassures him that they will find Floon. As the group leaves the tavern he asks them, "Any of you have run ins with Xanthar's crew or the Zhents before? My company had some dealings with the Zhents before but I was never privy to any details about them. Both sides are getting awfully bold with all this drama. Even having a fight break out in the middle of the Yawning Portal." He shakes his head. "What is Waterdeep coming to?" Almost as if on cue, he glances up and sees the city watch. Quickly he steals a glance at the bloodied men to see if he can tell who they are.
Josef being ever curious, walks up with Bjorn, yeah what's all this? more gang violence?
The Watch guard eyes the approaching group and immediately recognizes Bjorn as one of their own. With a tired grunt, he answers, “Haven’t been near the Dock Ward lately, huh? Just another dust-up between Xanathar’s boys and the Zhents. Same old, same old.”
The scene tells the rest of the story. Scattered weapons, bodies cooling on the cobblestones, and the lingering tension in the air. The unarmed thugs, already shackled and waiting to be hauled off, glare at their captors with undiluted rage—the kind that doesn’t come from magic or dark forces, just the mundane, all-too-human kind of hate. The witnesses’ murmurs confirm the same: no sorcery, no summoning—just another bloody chapter in the turf war spilling into Waterdeep’s streets.