21 Ches, 1501 DR — Waterdeep, Dock Ward

By the time the sun gives up and sinks behind the roofs, Waterdeep doesn’t dim so much as change its color. Lanterns come alive in windows and doorways, torchlight catches on wet cobbles, and the Dock Ward takes a deeper breath and decides it can fit even more people than it already has. Fleetswake has the city running hot for a full tenday, and the crowds never really thin. Taverns stay shoulder-to-shoulder from midafternoon until the small hours. Festhalls spill music into the street. Public squares are packed with hawkers, sailors, and locals who pretend they’re only out for the festival and not for the trouble that always tags along behind it.

The harbor wind keeps its edge, but inside the Dock Ward it’s dampened by the crowd of warm bodies. You can hear the sea if you listen for it, somewhere past the laughter and the dull roar of moving crowds, past the steady creak of rigging and the occasional bell ringing from the piers. The air is thick with smoke and the smell of the sea.

The tavern you chose, the Mooring Knot, is full in the honest way, the kind that makes the room feel smaller than it is. Tables are crowded with extra seats pull up. The bar is lined with elbows. A pair of sailors have claimed one corner as if they were born to it, and a cluster of merchants have done the same in another, speaking quickly and laughing as they talk shop. Every time the door opens, cold air knifes in for a heartbeat, and then the warmth swallows it again.

Selyne:

 The Mooring Knot is packed so tight it almost seems like there isn't enough air. Tables crowded, stools stolen the second someone stands, bodies shifting like a tide whenever the door opens You spot an open table by sheer luck: a small, battered thing near the edge of the room that’s empty only because a spilled drink still glistens on the boards and nobody wants wet sleeves. You slide in before anyone else can claim it, plant yourself like a wedge, and immediately realize the problem.

Keeping a table during Fleetswake is a job.

Within moments, someone drifts too close with an apologetic smile and a friend behind them. Another patron pauses with a mug in hand, eyeing the extra chairs like they’ve already decided they're theirs. A harried server tries to squeeze past and nearly knocks your chair sideways. The room presses, and every time you shift, it feels like an invitation for the crowd to take what you’re guarding. Now all you can do is watch the door, keep the spot, and hope the others arrive before you have to start defending your territory with more than words.

Even as she was having to fend off tavern-goers after her claimed table, the thought ran joyfully through Seylne's head for perhaps the hundredth time today. 'By the Lady of Dreams, I've missed this!' She had arrived off a merchant's ship this morning, getting a room at the Mooring Knot first thing. From midday on she had been drifting through the city, letting the chaos tug her from one street to the next. The blend of smoked meat and mixed spices, the allure of hawkers selling all manners of goods, and the flow of people moving through the city swept her along a current, and she gave herself over to it gladly. Two years on Evermeet had left her longing for the whimsy of those who lived on the Sword Coast.

Once the sky filled with the colors of dusk, she made her way back to the tavern to secure territory for her friends. Her hair, a sort of slate blue, is tied into braid and bound with silver thread. Sea-green eyes keep darting between the tavern door, and glaring at anyone who gets too close to the table. She wears a fitted, sleeveless brown jerkin, cinched with belts and buckles at the waist with rugged dark-brown trousers and well worn leather boots. Her forearms are wrapped in deep violet bindings over fingerless gloves. Tonight, she looked nothing like the ethereal Lady Selyne of House Nightstar. This was the road-Selyne, the one who thrived on noise and motion, who found joy in slipping out of grasp just when someone thought they had her.

When the first familiar face walks through the door, she practically leaps from the seat, waving her arms in the air and yelling out over the crowd: "Over here! Come quickly, I need backup!"

Despite the laughter clinging to the air as he walked down the street that would take him to the Mooring Knot, Arthur seemed to carry himself apart from it, shoulders squared as if bracing against some unseen weight. He'd worn his traveler's clothes, a practical close-fitting black outfit. The cloak around his shoulders was simple, a dusty white color with no adornments. A pair of black fingerless gloves cover his hands. His golden blonde hair was cut to a medium-short length, though still as unruly as ever. His gear he had left behind at the estate, though these days he was never truly unarmed.

After opening the door to the tavern and taking those first few steps inside, the tension in his frame melted upon hearing a familiar voice cut through the clamor of the tavern's crowded common area. When he saw Selyne at the far side of the room guarding a table, his shoulders sagged slightly, finally relaxed. With a grin lighting up his face he maneuvered through the crowded tavern to reach her.

"Somehow I'm not surprised you're the first to get here. How are you Selyne?"

A tall woman, just a touch under 6 feet, steps into the Mooring Knot and takes a quick look about. The hood of her bright green cloak is pushed back, revealing her long bright red hair. Beneath she is dressed in an off-white long sleeve tunic, soft brown pants, and sturdy leather shoes. Though they appear well suited for travel, the clothes are well-fitted and look to be made of high-quality materials. She seems to be a bit burdened, with a pack and a lute on her back and carrying a small sack.  At her belt are a number of pouches and a pair of daggers are the only weapons to be seen.  

She seems to have a determined look on her face at first. But soon she spots Selyne speaking with Arthur.  Caragh's face lights up with recognition and a smile comes to her lips. For her friends that know her, they would immediately notice she no longer wears the coat of leather armor that she always had. "Hey! There you are!" she yells loudly across the crowded room of the tavern.  She pushes her way through, moving rather nimbly to avoid other patrons as she goes. 

Arriving at the table, she brushes past Arthur, her eyes focusing in on the elf. "It is so amazing to see you dear lady! You beat me here? My ship just hit the dock a few minutes ago!"  She finally turns to Arthur, looking at him with a grin. "Oh! You're here too! Just a couple more and our crew's complete." Clapping her hand briefly against Arthur's shoulder, Caragh then grabs whatever seat seems closest. "Gonna have to find a place to stay too. Suppose with the masses here they have a spot still for the night?" 

The door to the Mooring Knot swings open once more, letting a couple of people out and a couple of people in. Above their heads, just as the door is about to swing shut, a dark shadow squeezes through the gap and circles the busy room in one swift swoop. With a loud Caw, the black raven lands on the back of one of the unoccupied chairs at Selyne's table and ruffles its golden-tipped feathers.

The figure that entered first pauses at the door. Silver hair shimmering under the lantern light, liquid gold eyes scanning the room with the weary patience of someone walking through a barn, Ayla Dormaris looks entirely too pristine for a dockside tavern. With a heavy sigh, she unbuckles the clasp of her dark traveling cloak and removes it to quickly pass it to the figure that followed after her.

Dressed in a structured, corset-style bodice made of expensive black leather, cinched at the waist with gold-filigree embroidery along the seams, with her shoulders protected by elegant leather spaulders that sit atop voluminous, flowing silk sleeves in a shimmering silver-gold hue, and well-fitted black-dyed leather trousers sewn personally for her, she looks more like a merchant herself than a druid. Her look is completed by comfortable, knee-high boots.

Glimpsing her raven perched on the chair, Ayla spots familiar faces at the small, battered table. She marches through the crowd - the sea of bodies seemingly parting more out of confusion at her presence than respect - and reaches the table just as a patron reaches for one of the empty chairs.

"Thank you kindly for pulling my chair out for me, sir," she says sweetly, placing her mahogany staff beside the chair as she slips into the unoccupied seat with a practiced grace, placing her Talking Doll on the chair next to hers. The doll's porcelain face, a miniature of her own, seems to stare down the unwanted company until they leave.

Behind Ayla follows a scrawny human boy who carries her pack and cloak. He carefully places her belongings at the spot she nodded to, and she passes him a gold coin.

"Thank you kindly for your help today, dear boy. Please enjoy yourself during the festivities," she smiles at the boy politely, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

It's only after the boy leaves with excited glimmer in his eyes that she finally turns her face and looks at Selyne, Arthur, and Caragh, and the first real smile tonight blooms on her face.

"You look like you're defending a fortress, guys," Ayla says as she flicks her fingers and whispers a word for Prestidigitation. The spilled mess on the table vanishes, leaving the wood dry and faintly smelling of jasmine. "A very damp, very loud fortress. How have you been doing, all of you? It's good to see you've managed to stay alive and well even without me around to protect you," she offers them her signature sly grin to signify she's joking in case they have forgotten her quirks.

The moment he's within a reasonable range, Selyne launches at Arthur to hug him. "A thousand times better now!" She laughs, releasing him after one tight squeeze of her arms. "And you? Your city is so...Busy! I've never seen so many people squeezed into place!" She takes, a step back, taking a moment to look him over, searching for new scars, new anything. "Have you been eating well?" Her hands come up to press against his cheeks. "Your cheeks are less smooshy."

She drops the matter like a stone when Caragh arrives next. "I've been here since the morning. My ship...Was a merchant's ship. That I had to pay extra to hitch a ride with." After the woman sinks down into a chair, Selyne wraps her arms around her shoulders from behind and squeezes tight. "I missed you! I have a room here, there's only one bed. But I'm sure we could all squeeze into it."

Similar to what she did with Arthur, she gives the young woman a look over. "Did you cut your hair? Where's your armor? Did you get any tattoos?"

She startles slightly at the appearance of the raven on one of the chairs, then her gaze snaps to the door. "AYLA!" She screams over the crowd, waving her hand high above her head. Once the other elf is seated, she shuffles around to her chair and hugs her the same as she had Caragh. "It's been an endless siege ever since I sat down."

"I've been..." Her nose wrinkles slightly at the thought of Evermeet. "Well I'm doing wonderfully now!"

"You look so fancy! How have you been? What's with the creepy doll? Does it walk?"

The hubbub of the Mooring Knot is does little to dampen the sudden loud smashing crack from one of the smaller rear doors of the tavern.

A moment later, Xarian Harkes ambles inside, rubbing his forehead sheepishly.  Not a clumsy man necessarily, but clearly having been just now engrossed in the questionable endeavor of scribbling something into a tattered book while making his way through the crowds of Fleetswake.  A book which he now stuffs into the pack behind his back along with his pen, incongruously next to the haft of a maul and hilt of a greatsword poking over each shoulder.

As always, the big man wears his scale mail, yet had apparently stowed his helm, the lack of which will likely result in a bruise around his hairline, nearly six and a half feet above the tavern floor, and an inch too tall for the servants' door by which he had absent mindedly chosen to enter.  Splinters of wood lie at his feet where the top of the doorframe appears to have fared even worse from the impact than Xari's own head, with its mop of dark brown hair.

While the big man's wide, child-like hazel eyes and even wider smile are familiar, as are his slightly tapered ears which hint at elven blood while his great stature is reminiscent of giant-kin, the Ash-grey owl perched on his shoulder, wings partly unfurled to steady herself, is new.  The small bird's own expressive round eyes wear a long-suffering look and glance exasperatedly towards Xari's friends, as if to say: can't take this guy anywhere!

"I can't believe it!  I - I thought I'd never see you three ladies again, and Arthur too!"  He strides excitedly over to the table, somehow managing to squeeze his broad shoulders through the throng before clapping the young nobleman on the back.  "I m-mean, I know we all agreed on the time and place, but still..."  The fact that the big man's slight stutter is barely noticeable indicates he is on the good side of his occasional manic-depressive cycle.

Xari looks like he very much wants nothing more than to wrap all four of his friends in a great bear hug, though held back by caution related to the possibility of knocking the table (or a bystander) over, or perhaps poking someone with a a sharp edge from his armor.  Instead, the big man pulls up a chair which groans slightly as he sits.  Closer up, one can see that he is unaware of the small ink smudge decorating one side of his nose.

"I've missed all of you so much!  What have you been doing?  Probably more exciting stuff than I have here in Waterdeep."  Xari's voice is rueful.  "All I do here is odd jobs to... um to help people I guess, and keep them safe.  Which is nice.  And in r-return, a man lets me sleep on a cot in his cellar, and someone else, this strange woman, lets me browse her library.  So much stuff about m-magic in the books there.  Magic like the kind you all can use!  It's where I learned how to summon a f-fam... well anyway, this is Ash."  He points to the small owl on his shoulder.

Ash, for her part, eyes the others, then the raven with a wary, yet not unfriendly glance, then goes back to preening herself.

"I've been good!" Arthur says with a laugh, returning the elf's embrace instanly - though he makes a small ack sound when she tries to squeeze the air from his lungs. "It's always this busy during festivals and the like, especially Fleetswake." There aren't any new scars or tattoos on his face or arms, though he does seem more lean. When she mushes his cheeks, he tries to speak: "yesh 've been eating." When she releases him, her attention snapping to Caragh, he rubs his cheeks lightly before taking a seat in an open chair.

Soon Alya is with them, and Xarian as well. To him, the world felt whole again. At the mention of somewhere to stay, he reluctantly mentions his family home. "There's guest rooms at the villa if we really wanted to."

"I didn't realize you'd be staying in Waterdeep, Xari. I thought you were back in Amphail. And you've been staying in a cellar?" Arthur spreads his arms out wide. "Hello, just come stay with me. Stars above, we have more than enough empty rooms."

"I've just been...Staying busy. Father takes me along to his endless meetings and social events now. And when that starts to drive me mad, I know one of the senior civilars from the Watch. He passes me things they're too busy to handle under the table."

When he gets a chance, he gets a server's attention. "Just bring us a large pitcher and five mugs when you get a chance." He says, giving them the required coinage with a two silver piece tip in addition.

Quote from BubblesLaw >

"I didn't realize you'd be staying in Waterdeep, Xari. I thought you were back in Amphail. And you've been staying in a cellar?" Arthur spreads his arms out wide. "Hello, just come stay with me. Stars above, we have more than enough empty rooms."

...

"I've just been...Staying busy. Father takes me along to his endless meetings and social events now. And when that starts to drive me mad, I know one of the senior civilars from the Watch. He passes me things they're too busy to handle under the table."

 

The big man looks pained at Arthur's offer of shelter, and his stutter becomes a bit more pronounced.  He knows his friend's kindness is sincere and heartfelt, yet growing up a gutter rat has imbued Xari with too much experience of just how most noble families would react to his showing up at their door expecting a handout or roof to sleep under.  He's never quite felt himself equal to imposing on Arthur's household.

Almost as intimidating as it would be to show up as a mostly human mutt at the doors of Selyne or Ayla's elven families, he imagines.  He guesses it might be much the same with Caragh, though Xari has never figured out the bard's background.  Assuming he would even dare to voyage to the Moonshae Isles or Evermeet anyway.  And besides, a cot, or even a floor suits him just fine.  But the big man adores his friends and is just elated they're here now!

"I, ah... I mean, I th-thought about going back to Amphail, maybe see my mum, but I'm kind of... kind of persona non grata there, you know?  Especially if the guard c-captain or his son... anyway, I think my mentor that I t-told you about, Orlan?  I think h-he's here in Waterdeep.  Only, I h-haven't seen him.  I worked as a caravan guard for a couple m-merchant trains heading out of the c-city.  Since then, some people give me a pl-place to stay and a library to explore in return for h-helping people out.  Poor folk like I used to be, mostly.  Ask m-me to keep my eyes and ears open too and report back."

The big man pauses thoughtfully.  "S-sometimes I wonder if it's, I don't know... a ring of spies or something?  T-turning me into an asset?  They seem nice enough, though.  M-maybe it's kind of like the, um... the under the t-table work you're saying you do for your f-family, Arthur?"

​Ayla winces as Selyne's earnest hug catches her off guard. Despite her body stiffening instinctively, a stubborn warmth spreads in her chest. She allows the moment of closeness to linger for a heartbeat too long before awkwardly patting the arm wrapped around her shoulders.

​"What? This old thing? Hardly 'fancy,' Selyne. It is merely... functional. Though I suppose my brothers have passably decent taste for once." She waves a hand in theatrical dismissal, though her lips curl upward, betraying her enjoyment of the compliment. "A gift from them. They seemed to think surviving the wilderness required a bit more... structural integrity. And I must say, it is far more practical than the silks I wore when we first met. I've matured, you see."

​She hoped desperately that none of them remembered the absolute tantrum she’d thrown when her favorite moon-thread gown had been snagged on a common briar patch.

​Wincing again, this time internally, Ayla nods toward the doll. "And that... is a birthday memento from my parents." She grimaces as the doll chooses that exact moment to pipe up in its crystalline, tiny voice:

​"Nothing beats a Forgotten Realms holiday..."

​"It has a mind of its own. Usually a judgmental one," Ayla mutters.

​Thankfully, just then a new voice joins the cacophony of the tavern and Ayla turns slightly to the side just in time to see Xarian approach the table. Moving the doll from the chair to her lap to let him take the last empty seat, her golden eyes widen as they land on the feathered guest on his shoulder.

​"Great Mother... you’ve gone and acquired a bird as well?" She glances at her raven, Poe, who looks down from the chair-back with an air of feathered superiority. "Perhaps they can discuss the local rodent population while we speak of more civilized matters."

​Her gaze returns to Xarian's face, and her brow furrows into a sharp, aristocratic line. "You’ve a smudge. Right there. Honestly, Xarian, did you walk through a printing press?"

​Where anyone else might have reached out to smudge the ink away with a thumb, Ayla simply performs a sharp, elegant flick of her wrist. With a whispered word, the ink vanishes as if it had never existed.

​"There. Much better." She offers him a sly, knowing grin to take the sting out of the words, and nods in approval when Arthur tries to order drinks for the table.

"And make sure it's good!" She adds to the server, scrunching her nose slightly at the thought of drinking bad ale.

//sorry, switching to purple for the dialogue, the green is not vibing  😅

"Xari! That's everyone!" Selyne practically squeals with delight. Once he maneuvers to take the doll's chair, the young elvish woman again sidles over for a hug. Though with the owl. And the weapons. It's a little difficult. She tries to go in from a few different angles before settling on an arm wrapped around his shoulders from the side. "I swear you got even taller, and magic! Look at you go!"

And then finally she sits back down in her own chair.

"I should have just brought you half my wardrobe. You'd probably wear them better than I ever could." She says to Ayla. Then her eyes track to the doll again, and she leans over on the table, resting her chin in her hand. "I've never seen anything like it before."

Something Arthur had said earlier registers in her overexcited brain, and she snaps her head towards him. "Did you just say we could stay in your family's home? The villa you said?"

"A spy group? That'd be exciting at least. So long as they aren't secretly some criminal group." Arthur says, his brows going up in mild interest at the big man's musing. When he compares it to his own way of keeping busy, the young noble quickly waves his hand dismissively. "Oh no, nothing so fancy. It's just one of the Watch captains, Ren. He commands one of the watch posts here in the Dock Ward. It's nothing big. Just sometimes he drops little hints for me when they're overwhelmed with other business." His brow furrows slightly. "I think my father probably knows, but he never brings it up."

He nods slowly when Selyne narrows in on his comment about rooms. "It's an option. It'd be free, and we wouldn't be spending half the night trying to find empty rooms at a place like this." 

Caragh's eyes close for a moment as Selyne's arms wrap around her from behind, relishing the moment. "Hmm, could be fun squeezing into your bed, Selyne," she says slyly. "It's settled, I'm staying in your room!" She's about to respond to the barrage of questions when the raven startles her as well. Selyne calls out the name first, but she spots Ayla right after. Her smile seems to grow. 

She watches as Ayla deftly takes a seat as the other patron nearly poached it away. Her eyes narrow at the porcelain doll she places on the adjacent chair. "Ayla, is it actually looking at that man?" she asks, sounding uncertain about the prospect. From there though it is a swirl of activity as Xari finally joins in with the group. She's glad Arthur has ordered up some drinks, as she would definitely welcome downing a few. But what had he said? "Wait. Arthur. We can all stay in your family's villa?" Her words echo those Selyne had just said.  "I mean, Selyne did already offer me a spot in her bed, so not sure I can turn that down. But a villa?" 

The sudden conversations have been hard to follow, but Caragh tries. "Xari, you're living in the basement of a spy group?"  She then turns her attention to Arthur, "And you're doing jobs for the Watch?"  Her eyes then go to Ayla. "That outfit does look wonderful on you Ayla. I could perhaps use something fancy like that for dancing. Though I do like my plain, comfortable clothes."   

Ayla:  "...I've matured, you see."

"You have?"  As usual, Xari misses the subtext and takes Ayla's statement more literally than intended.  "I - I mean, I'm sure you have, but you elven lasses age so slowly, right?  I was reading a book on it.  These, what, t-two years?  More like three months for you, relatively speaking..."

The big man trails off at Ayla's expression, only then recalling how she had grown irate about something that Xari had not quite rightly wrapped his head around that one time when the five of them had been together before.  His mouth snaps judiciously shut.  Only to open again in surprise...

Ayla:  ​Her gaze returns to Xarian's face, and her brow furrows into a sharp, aristocratic line. "You’ve a smudge. Right there. Honestly, Xarian, did you walk through a printing press?"

​Where anyone else might have reached out to smudge the ink away with a thumb, Ayla simply performs a sharp, elegant flick of her wrist. With a whispered word, the ink vanishes as if it had never existed.

"A... a p-printing press?  N-no, I was just writing notes on this one spell that m-might let me jump further and must have touched my..."

The big man lets out a small, incongruous yelp as Ayla flicks her wrist at her in that graceful way of hers, memories of her tricks flooding back to him.  He touches the outside of his nose again, this time with an un-smudged hand, thankfully.  Turning sheepishly to his familiar, Ash:

"W-wait, did I actually have an ink smudge?"  (The owl responds only with an extravagant roll of her moon-like eyes at Xari.)

 ... [Selyne] again sidles over for a hug. Though with the owl. And the weapons. It's a little difficult. She tries to go in from a few different angles before settling on an arm wrapped around his shoulders from the side. "I swear you got even taller, and magic! Look at you go!"

The big man returns Selyne's hug enthusiastically with his usual unwitting strength, inadvertently lifting the petite elven woman slightly off her feet for a moment before letting her go.  Ash half-flaps her wings to maintain her balance, a long-suffering expression on the owl's face.

"And y-you are still the same bundle of joy as ever, Selyne.  Even though you've probably matured three m-months and all too, just like Ayla..."

Arthur:  "Oh no, nothing so fancy. It's just one of the Watch captains, Ren. He commands one of the watch posts here in the Dock Ward. It's nothing big. Just sometimes he drops little hints for me when they're overwhelmed with other business."

Xari's expression darkens the instant Arthur utters the words 'watch captain,' like a storm cloud passing in front of the sun.  It takes a moment to soften.

"I guess if you think h-he's a decent man, Arthur.  And trustworthy..." the big man ventures doubtfully.  Absently, he rubs his chest as if nursing a bruise.

Caragh:  "...Xari, you're living in the basement of a spy group?"

"Ah... I mean, p-perhaps?"  Xari looks a little embarrassed by his own speculation.  "Probably not.  They d-do seem smart and good at plots and plans.  K-kind of like you, Caragh.  Most of what they have me do is just helping common f-folk and reporting back on what I see or hear.  And their libr-"

He cuts off as he notices the consensus growing that they should all stay at Arthur's family villa.  Xari looks vaguely uncomfortable and worried.

Well, if the ladies can do it, then so can you, Xari.  Arthur's dad probably won't kick you out.  Maybe just find a corner where you can curl up on the floor...