Akai growls in contemplation, "Hrrm, he knew nothing of value, as guessed... but at least he spreads word of Akai's deeds, so not a complete waste. Kahah!" He cackles for a moment and continues. "But this 'Neverember' shows promise. He has enemies. But also fame. And standing! He must have information too! We go to see him - make him talk! Other two search at 'Skewer Dragon'" - he nearly spits the Tavern's name - "so what say you?" He address the remaining members of the party.
Ian raises his eyebrows lightly, grins a little, and says to Akai, "My dear sorcerer, have you any idea of where Neverember could be found? He was last seen with our missing Floon. Per our master Volo, Neverember seems to be away from home and hearth and is perhaps missing as well." Pausing shortly to regroup, Ian continues to the rest of the table, "I believe that it's wise to inquire within the Skewered Dragon sooner rather than later. I'm concerned, however, about the skewering aspect of that locale. Our astute master Volo has alluded to the place being of ill repute and the Dock Wards are known for not being kind to strangers or locals. I trust them to be careful and hopefully no early engagement will be sprung upon them without support of healing hands or words."
Ian raises his eyebrows lightly, grins a little, and says to Akai, "My dear sorcerer, have you any idea of where Neverember could be found? He was last seen with our missing Floon. Per our master Volo, Neverember seems to be away from home and hearth and is perhaps missing as well." Pausing shortly to regroup, Ian continues to the rest of the table, "I believe that it's wise to inquire within the Skewered Dragon sooner rather than later. I'm concerned, however, about the skewering aspect of that locale. Our astute master Volo has alluded to the place being of ill repute and the Dock Wards are known for not being kind to strangers or locals. I trust them to be careful and hopefully no early engagement will be sprung upon them without support of healing hands or words."
"That should not be an issue, Master Nito. I should have a friend or two at the Skewered Dragon, and I do not anticipate trouble from the owner or staff. For the rest, well..." he taps the pommel of his sheathed dagger, "We will not be unprepared."
Ian raises his eyebrows lightly, grins a little, and says to Akai, "My dear sorcerer, have you any idea of where Neverember could be found? He was last seen with our missing Floon. Per our master Volo, Neverember seems to be away from home and hearth and is perhaps missing as well." Pausing shortly to regroup, Ian continues to the rest of the table, "I believe that it's wise to inquire within the Skewered Dragon sooner rather than later. I'm concerned, however, about the skewering aspect of that locale. Our astute master Volo has alluded to the place being of ill repute and the Dock Wards are known for not being kind to strangers or locals. I trust them to be careful and hopefully no early engagement will be sprung upon them without support of healing hands or words."
"That should not be an issue, Master Nito. I should have a friend or two at the Skewered Dragon, and I do not anticipate trouble from the owner or staff. For the rest, well..." he taps the pommel of his sheathed dagger, "We will not be unprepared."
“Looks like we have our heading good friends. Ready to head out?” Irma shoulders his War Hammer and picks up his shield.
Their new companions having retired for the evening, Falshenand Gregorstep out the door of the Yawning Portal and into the streets of the Castle Ward. The last gleams of the sun are fading on the horizon over the sea, and a light, warm drizzle of rain is blowing in from the east. Around them, the usual evening crowd hurry about their business - magisters heading home after a dinner out, soldiers coming on and off duty, nobles going visiting in their litters and carriages, priests of the many gods bearing censers and lanterns as they chant blessings on the coming night. From where they stand, the two men can just see the helm of The Honorable Knight rising above the houses to their southeast, and over everything looms the mighty hulk of Castle Waterdeep.
Prior to leaving, Falshen took a moment to don his leather armor. As he and Gregor depart, he turns to the wizard. "Given that you have friends at the Skewered Dragon, may I safely presume that you know how to get there?"
Prior to leaving, Falshen took a moment to don his leather armor. As he and Gregor depart, he turns to the wizard. "Given that you have friends at the Skewered Dragon, may I safely presume that you know how to get there?"
"You may," Gregor says, looking around to ensure all of his possessions are on him, "Shall we get going?"
Heading south from the Yawning Portal, our duo make their way down Snail Street, the main north-south artery of the Dock Ward. Almost the moment they set foot outside the Castle Ward, they feel the atmosphere subtly shift, as the air takes on less the odor of polish and incense, and more that of fish heads and tar. Snail Street is packed with foot traffic and cart traffic; the shoving, swearing, and general hullabaloo is magnificent.
Passing south of Fish Street, they take a turn onto Fillet Lane. Coming around the corner, they find that part of the road has been cordoned off by the City Watch. Lying on the cobblestones are a half-dozen corpses, seemingly the victims of some terrible skirmish. Watch officers have disarmed and arrested three blood-drenched humans and are in the midst of questioning witnesses. One of the officers sees Falshenand Gregorapproaching and waves dismissively at them. “Get on,” she says. “Nothing to see here.”
Ducking into an alley and turning two more corners, the companions find themselves in a narrow, nameless lane. Densely packed tenements leave much of the street in shadow at ground level. Most of the streetlamps have had their glass smashed and their candles stolen, and the smells of salt air and excrement linger as they pass by rows of run-down buildings.
One nearby building stands out from the others. It has a deep purple facade, and in its window hangs a stuffed beholder. Above the door hangs a sign whose elaborate letters spell out “Old Xoblob Shop.” There are no other visible commercial establishments.
Cat-a-corner from the shop sits the building that Gregor points out as The Skewered Dragon. There is nothing to indicate the place is a tavern, as no sign hangs outside, and the only distinguishing features are the smashed front windows and the ship’s anchor lodged in the roof. As they approach, they see a half-orc in a dirty jerkin stumble out, vomit on the pavement, and reel away into the shadows, followed by a gust of beery laughter from within.
Stepping into the smoky, dimly lit shambles of an alehouse, Gregorand Falshenfind some two-dozen patrons of both sexes and every race, their diversity somewhat muted by their uniform shabbiness, malodorousness, and attitude of ever-incipient violence. Every eye turns to our heroes as they walk in, and turns away with immediate dismissal. A massive bronze dragonborn with a vast beer gut slouches behind the bar - bare chested, heavily tattooed, a smoking pipe in one hand, his eyes half-lidded as though in a drugged torpor, his nostrils pierced by a heavy gold ring.
The dragonborn's rotund torso heaves gently as he exhales a cloud of sickly-sweet smoke, and his eyes open ever so slightly.
"Evening, Horsa." he rumbles. "How's business?"
"Ongoing, even as we speak. Do you have some place a little more private where we can talk? My associate and I have been tasked with locating something of value, and I think you might be able to help."
Akai growls in contemplation, "Hrrm, he knew nothing of value, as guessed... but at least he spreads word of Akai's deeds, so not a complete waste. Kahah!" He cackles for a moment and continues. "But this 'Neverember' shows promise. He has enemies. But also fame. And standing! He must have information too! We go to see him - make him talk! Other two search at 'Skewer Dragon'" - he nearly spits the Tavern's name - "so what say you?" He address the remaining members of the party.
Ian raises his eyebrows lightly, grins a little, and says to Akai, "My dear sorcerer, have you any idea of where Neverember could be found? He was last seen with our missing Floon. Per our master Volo, Neverember seems to be away from home and hearth and is perhaps missing as well." Pausing shortly to regroup, Ian continues to the rest of the table, "I believe that it's wise to inquire within the Skewered Dragon sooner rather than later. I'm concerned, however, about the skewering aspect of that locale. Our astute master Volo has alluded to the place being of ill repute and the Dock Wards are known for not being kind to strangers or locals. I trust them to be careful and hopefully no early engagement will be sprung upon them without support of healing hands or words."
"That should not be an issue, Master Nito. I should have a friend or two at the Skewered Dragon, and I do not anticipate trouble from the owner or staff. For the rest, well..." he taps the pommel of his sheathed dagger, "We will not be unprepared."
Ian nods his head in acquiescence and says, “Very well then. I trust your knowledge of the city and wish you both luck in your inquiries.”
“Looks like we have our heading good friends. Ready to head out?” Irma shoulders his War Hammer and picks up his shield.
Day 1 - First of Eleint - Sunset
Their new companions having retired for the evening, Falshen and Gregor step out the door of the Yawning Portal and into the streets of the Castle Ward. The last gleams of the sun are fading on the horizon over the sea, and a light, warm drizzle of rain is blowing in from the east. Around them, the usual evening crowd hurry about their business - magisters heading home after a dinner out, soldiers coming on and off duty, nobles going visiting in their litters and carriages, priests of the many gods bearing censers and lanterns as they chant blessings on the coming night. From where they stand, the two men can just see the helm of The Honorable Knight rising above the houses to their southeast, and over everything looms the mighty hulk of Castle Waterdeep.
Prior to leaving, Falshen took a moment to don his leather armor. As he and Gregor depart, he turns to the wizard. "Given that you have friends at the Skewered Dragon, may I safely presume that you know how to get there?"
"You may," Gregor says, looking around to ensure all of his possessions are on him, "Shall we get going?"
Falshen gestures politely. "Lead the way."
Heading south from the Yawning Portal, our duo make their way down Snail Street, the main north-south artery of the Dock Ward. Almost the moment they set foot outside the Castle Ward, they feel the atmosphere subtly shift, as the air takes on less the odor of polish and incense, and more that of fish heads and tar. Snail Street is packed with foot traffic and cart traffic; the shoving, swearing, and general hullabaloo is magnificent.
Passing south of Fish Street, they take a turn onto Fillet Lane. Coming around the corner, they find that part of the road has been cordoned off by the City Watch. Lying on the cobblestones are a half-dozen corpses, seemingly the victims of some terrible skirmish. Watch officers have disarmed and arrested three blood-drenched humans and are in the midst of questioning witnesses. One of the officers sees Falshen and Gregor approaching and waves dismissively at them. “Get on,” she says. “Nothing to see here.”
Gregor nods, "Good day, officers," he prepares to look for an alternate route.
After a brief glance at the scene, Falshen follows in Gregor's wake.
Ducking into an alley and turning two more corners, the companions find themselves in a narrow, nameless lane. Densely packed tenements leave much of the street in shadow at ground level. Most of the streetlamps have had their glass smashed and their candles stolen, and the smells of salt air and excrement linger as they pass by rows of run-down buildings.
One nearby building stands out from the others. It has a deep purple facade, and in its window hangs a stuffed beholder. Above the door hangs a sign whose elaborate letters spell out “Old Xoblob Shop.” There are no other visible commercial establishments.
Cat-a-corner from the shop sits the building that Gregor points out as The Skewered Dragon. There is nothing to indicate the place is a tavern, as no sign hangs outside, and the only distinguishing features are the smashed front windows and the ship’s anchor lodged in the roof. As they approach, they see a half-orc in a dirty jerkin stumble out, vomit on the pavement, and reel away into the shadows, followed by a gust of beery laughter from within.
Gregor proceeds inside.
Stepping into the smoky, dimly lit shambles of an alehouse, Gregor and Falshen find some two-dozen patrons of both sexes and every race, their diversity somewhat muted by their uniform shabbiness, malodorousness, and attitude of ever-incipient violence. Every eye turns to our heroes as they walk in, and turns away with immediate dismissal. A massive bronze dragonborn with a vast beer gut slouches behind the bar - bare chested, heavily tattooed, a smoking pipe in one hand, his eyes half-lidded as though in a drugged torpor, his nostrils pierced by a heavy gold ring.
"The dragonborn's name is Gorbund," Gregor mutters to Falshen, "He's... an acquaintance, but talking with him is as good a lead as we have right now."
Sitting down at the bar, Gregor says, "Evening, Gorbund."
The dragonborn's rotund torso heaves gently as he exhales a cloud of sickly-sweet smoke, and his eyes open ever so slightly.
"Evening, Horsa." he rumbles. "How's business?"
[Null post]
"Ongoing, even as we speak. Do you have some place a little more private where we can talk? My associate and I have been tasked with locating something of value, and I think you might be able to help."
Gorbund gives Falshen a long look, shifting slightly in his chair and giving a hoarse, phlegmy cough.
"Hrm! Might be. Who's your friend? Haven't seem him 'round here before."