"Sweet publicans! My newly minted purveyors of beef and beer, lords of the common board - I hear the Manor is to re-open? I hear you are soon to join the ranks of honest merchantmen? I also hear..." and his voice drops to the most outrageous stage whisper, "that you are on the trail of a certain hidden hoard? Perhaps, perhaps there is some news, some juicy titbits that a peddler in the printed word might share with the good people of Waterdeep? For a fee worthy of his hire, of course. All in the name of glory!"
Gregor coughs, "Good Master Volo... Do you think it is entirely wise to advertise, in this city of all cities, that there may be an incalculable fortune which we may or may not have a lead on? What is the most likely outcome of such a declaration?"
"Why - high drama, of course! A great game! A grand chase! A race to the prize! You will be sought out, envied, paid court to, importuned! I cannot imagine - "
It's Yagra, the half-orc Zhentarim whom you first saw trading fisticuffs with some Xanathar yahoos in the Yawning Portal.
"Horsa!" she growls, shoving her head through the door and peering around at the company. "You still above ground? You not crawling with Watch? Let me in, man, I need somewhere to flop. I've been on the run all night. Every bolt hole in the City is plugged tight. What gives? I ain't heard the word. Who pissed in the soup?"
Ian smirks and interjects the query with an observation,
“Here we are, a half-way house it seems. How about a drink for a story.” Ian gestures, inviting Yagra further inside. Ian gestures signaling his unseen servant to grab some drinks for the guests.
to Master Volo he says,
“Stories take time to mature, much like a fine ale. Perhaps you have some new information to add to this brew before the ferment sets in.”
Gregor sighs, still glowing faintly red from the Mage Armor spell, "Get settled in Yagra, I'll show you to a room. Do you need food? Beer? We can talk in a bit more detail after the... esteemed publicist makes his way to his next appointment."
Yagra accepts a mug and settles into a chair in one corner, grumbling. Volo, pen and paper already in hand, utters a protest at his implied eviction.
"Come now, my good host, surely anything fit for the ears of this lady would be fit for the ears of the public? Unless of course...exclusivity? A private publication? A limited print release, distributed only to the most discerning - and well-heeled? Why, I can think of a few select patrons who - "
There's a knock at the door.
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Ian gains 7 hit points, reaches 18 in Dexterity & 16 in Constitution; he learns Invisibility & Dancing Lights.
Irma added on a Warlock Class and +2 to his dexterity. He has Hexblade Warlock Class
It is evening, the Nineteenth of Eleint.
Is anybody engaging in any further business before you retire for the night?
Falshen will retire unless any of his companions have need of his skills.
Akai will likewise retire for the evening.
Irma Gerd will retire for the evening.
Ian is going to bed.
Gregor has to report the situation to his superiors.
Day 20 - Twentieth of Eleint
It's morning.
There's a knock at the door.
Falshen will answer it unless anyone stops him.
Ian will also ready himself and go to the door with Falshen.
It's Volo.
"Sweet publicans! My newly minted purveyors of beef and beer, lords of the common board - I hear the Manor is to re-open? I hear you are soon to join the ranks of honest merchantmen? I also hear..." and his voice drops to the most outrageous stage whisper, "that you are on the trail of a certain hidden hoard? Perhaps, perhaps there is some news, some juicy titbits that a peddler in the printed word might share with the good people of Waterdeep? For a fee worthy of his hire, of course. All in the name of glory!"
Gregor coughs, "Good Master Volo... Do you think it is entirely wise to advertise, in this city of all cities, that there may be an incalculable fortune which we may or may not have a lead on? What is the most likely outcome of such a declaration?"
The grandiloquent scribbler blinks.
"Why - high drama, of course! A great game! A grand chase! A race to the prize! You will be sought out, envied, paid court to, importuned! I cannot imagine - "
There's a knock at the door.
"Ah good, the other shoe has arrived just in time to drop," Gregor says, walking toward the door and casting Mage Armor on himself before opening it.
It's Yagra, the half-orc Zhentarim whom you first saw trading fisticuffs with some Xanathar yahoos in the Yawning Portal.
"Horsa!" she growls, shoving her head through the door and peering around at the company. "You still above ground? You not crawling with Watch? Let me in, man, I need somewhere to flop. I've been on the run all night. Every bolt hole in the City is plugged tight. What gives? I ain't heard the word. Who pissed in the soup?"
Ian smirks and interjects the query with an observation,
“Here we are, a half-way house it seems. How about a drink for a story.” Ian gestures, inviting Yagra further inside. Ian gestures signaling his unseen servant to grab some drinks for the guests.
to Master Volo he says,
“Stories take time to mature, much like a fine ale. Perhaps you have some new information to add to this brew before the ferment sets in.”
Irma steps forward and welcomes Master Volvo and the Half Orc in. He then moves to close the door behind them.
Gregor sighs, still glowing faintly red from the Mage Armor spell, "Get settled in Yagra, I'll show you to a room. Do you need food? Beer? We can talk in a bit more detail after the... esteemed publicist makes his way to his next appointment."
Yagra accepts a mug and settles into a chair in one corner, grumbling. Volo, pen and paper already in hand, utters a protest at his implied eviction.
"Come now, my good host, surely anything fit for the ears of this lady would be fit for the ears of the public? Unless of course...exclusivity? A private publication? A limited print release, distributed only to the most discerning - and well-heeled? Why, I can think of a few select patrons who - "
There's a knock at the door.