Dragon Heist - Hell of a Summer

6th of Kythorn, 1492 DR (6/6/1492)

Waterdeep in turmoil! The City of Splendors finds itself in the midst of political tumult and financial crisis as Spring draws to a close and the Summer heat fast approaches. The Masked Lords of Waterdeep have voted to oust and exile former Open Lord Dagult Neverember, whose tenure was rife with scandals and power-grabbing schemes, from his position and replaced him with the archmage Laeral Silverhand. Several of Neverember’s loyalists within the city government left with him, leaving Waterdeep’s bureaucracy hamstrung and kindling fears of economic hardship. Criminal elements within the city like the Xanathar Guild and the Zhentarim have also become more brazen, going so far as to fight with one another in the streets, spreading the City Watch thin. In the midst of this conflict, an unexpected group of heroes will emerge and discover a half-a-million gold pieces-worth conspiracy that will change not just their fates, but the fate of the City of Splendors and all its people…

On this uncharacteristically warm Spring night, all three floors of the Yawning Portal Tavern are packed. Merchants, nobles, and other wealthy individuals cling to the upper floors, looking down on the rabble of adventurers, mercenaries, and other less-than-savory types on the main taproom below. People from all corners of Faerun and beyond gather here at the candle-lit tables and the long oak wood bar of the Portal, manned by the dour and mutton-chopped Durnan, the Portal’s proprietor. The air is teeming with the aromas of rich ale, earthy pipe-smoke, and mouth-watering quipper and chips. Music from what must be three different bards in three different sections of the Tavern rings throughout the space like birdsong, making for an interesting (if rather chaotic and inconsistent) listening experience. Hanging from the walls are various trophies and trinkets Durnan has collected from adventurers passing through over the many years he’s owned this place, from bloodstained banners and strange statues to unique magic weapons and even stuffed monster heads. The history of this place is tangible, weighing it down, but not overburdening it. 

And at the center of it all is the eponymous Yawning Portal, a 40 foot-wide hole in the ground ringed by a foot-thick cobblestone wall that stands at about waist height for the average human. A rope-and-pulley system hangs over the pit, the rope of which is rather distressingly blood-stained. Beyond this opening, also known as the Well, is the entrance to Undermountain, a legendary and sprawling dungeon containing many mysteries, treasures, and dangers. It would seem a party of adventurers is making their descent tonight - an elf rogue, a human cleric, a dwarf fighter, a halfling wizard, and a dragonborn bard. As Durnan collects his toll - one gold to get down, with one more needed to get pulled back up - and begins lowering them into the Well one by one, various of the adventurous patrons hoot and holler for this latest band of dungeon delvers. Once they are gone, Durnan returns to the bar and starts taking bets on their chances - a common tradition. One patron shouts over the crowd, “I’ll bet 5 gold they’re back before a tenday, minus the halfling and the elf!”

Though things around the Portal seem to be business as usual, there is an undercurrent of unspoken tension that runs through the place. An anxiety behind the eyes of the patrons, an uncertainty. Waterdeep’s been plagued with troubles, prices are on the rise, crime is running rampant, and it seems the City Watch and Government are barely holding everything together. The whole city is like a pot on a flame - but it has not boiled over just yet. As such, the six of you have come together, formed a party, and reserved a table at the Portal waiting for your first client to show up - the famous and notorious writer of widespread and controversial guidebooks, Volothamp Geddarm. He arranged this meeting after one of you responded to a hastily-written post of his on a community board. You recall he told you, “My good friend, let us meet at the Yawning Portal at 8:00 sharp tonight! And bring your stalwart companions!” 

But it would seem that dear Volo is running late...

(Feel free to introduce your character and describe what they’re doing in the Yawning Portal as they wait for Volo to arrive. Have fun!)

Tucked between railing and the rest of the floor, Ilmrae looked out over the chaotic, lively tavern. The unruly white mane that brushed just below long, tapered ears idly tipped from side to side, matching the beat of the closest bard's tune, while booted feet tapped out the same rhythm against the sawdust covered floor. Save for the collection of mismatched necklaces strung about her neck, she wore simple travelling fare. A dagger was sheathed at her hip- more a dinning knife than any real threat in a fight. Beside it hung a sturdy leather satchel, its scratched sides buldging with whatever bits and bobs the aevendrow had deemed worthy of collecting that day.

An easy smile seemed stuck in place as she soaked up the raucous atmosphere. "Stars above, Is it always this busy?" She asked the rest situated around the table, focus drawn to the party of adventurers who'd paid for the privilege of exploring the Undermountain. And yet, even so, she couldn't help but notice the tense edge which many of the patrons held themselves with, nor catch bits and pieces of conversations nervously muttered nearby. The overstrung energy that'd ran through the city these past few weeks, that had been the catalyst for their meeting, had managed to claw its way even into a place such as the famous tavern it'd seem.

She resisted the urge to look towards the entrance, to the setting sun that signaled their contact was running late, and instead addressed the gathered again. "Have y'all had any of the food here before? Any recommendations?"

Stepping in from the street, Elagor paused as the wave of sounds and smells assaulted his senses. By the Gods, 'tis busy in here this eve, he thought to himself. A small part of him worried that a table, necessary for the evening's business, might be difficult (or expensive) to come by. More immediately was the problem of locating any of the people he was supposed to meet. Elagor's height, while not below average, was not well suited to scanning a crowded room in which many people towered above him.  He sighed. Some friends in his former life, if "cursed" with below average stature, resorted to boots with thick soles. These were cleverly disguised by expensive tailoring. Elagor favoured comfort and his ankles above such vanity.

"Elbows out," he muttered to himself and began to forge his way through the throng. He spotted a mop of white away to his left and abruptly changed direction. He felt, rather than saw, a laughing adventurer spill ale down his back as he passed. Now he'd smell like the taproom floor for the rest of the evening. Hardly the impression to make for a new client. A moment later he emerged next to Ilmrae, whose timekeeping was invariably better than his own. He smiled, overhearing her question. "Anything but the fish soup," He advised with a grin. "Good evening, glad you could make it."

As Elagor looked out at the crowd he noticed a ripple moving through it, in the way that a fish leaves a wake on the surface of a pond. Whatever was making the disturbance was heading towards him. After a few moments, it reached the edge of the crowd, which parted slightly to let a grey-haired halfling woman through. Stopping to get her bearings, she removed her head-scarf and shook something off it, grimacing slightly, before slipping it into a pocket.

"Hello friends, it's good to see you again." She looks at Elagor "I saw you arrive, and figured a gentleman would escort a poor defenceless woman through the crowd, but I guess not." As Elagor splutters to reply she winks at Ilmrae "luckily I'm not defenceless, eh?" She looks back at Elagor "So, is one of you younglings going to get the drinks in? I'm sure Mialee will be here any minute....."

"One of us might buy a poor defenceless woman a drink, of course," Elagor replies with a wry smile. "If I see such a woman, I'll be sure to offer them one!  Since teasing me IS thirsty work, however, I'll see what I can do."  He turns to approach the bar. "Of course, you'll be getting in the next round!"

A young tabaxi figure wends his way through the crowded tavern, looking for someone he recognizes. He has jet black fur (with a white patch on his chest which is covered by his leather jacket) and searching golden eyes. He carefully weaves between rowdy patrons and bustling servers, careful to not let anyone spill anything on him. He wants to make a good first impression with these people.

His clawed hands twitch a bit to be around so many distracted people. It would be a simple matter to lighten someone’s load, so to speak, while they enjoyed their drink. But the young figure knows better than to try something like that here, where things can be volatile, mercurial, unpredictable. Don't get reckless, he thinks to himself. You’re not lucky, well, I mean, you are Lucky, that’s your name, but it doesn’t make you particularly lucky. Stick to the plan.

His plan is to find the people that invited him here and he’s trying to not get frustrated. At last he spots a table with an eclectic bunch that match the descriptions given to him and he approaches, trying not to sound nervous as he asks, “Is this the group for, uh, Mercy Aves, and Mialee Siannodel? My name’s Lucky, I was told there would be a meeting here tonight…”

"If you know Mialee young man, then you're in the right place. I'm sure she'll be here shortly. In the meantime, take a seat and relax, I am Dierdre."

"A drink would be splendid," Amusement at the pair's banter colored her tone as she raised it towards Elagor, adding in her drink order. "I'll try what you're having, on that front!" To the others she lightly patted the tabletop in invitation to join her around it. "Dierdre speaks true to that point. Ilmrae, good t'meet you. Or Immy to my friends. Which I've no doubt we'll be soon enough."

Lucky will lithely settle in at the table, unashamedly order a milk punch (milk, cream, whiskey) when he can, and sit quietly, fidgeting with a silver coin on the table, preferring for now to listen rather than do the talking.

Inwardly, Lucky is ruminating on the fact that this could be a big important job, Volo is no small fish in this big pond of a city. Don’t screw this up, you need this, he chides himself repeatedly.

on mobile at my break at work, but here’s a Post from Mialee: 

Among the crowded dance floor you see a dark and beautiful form topped with a mane of silvery white hair. She is dancing with a blue dragonborn and alternating between a gyrating, undulating motion when but a few feet apart, and following the blue dragonborn's lead whenever they embrace. When the nearest bard finishes his piece the blue dragonborn holds the last embrace an awkward moment too long, realizing the song is over and with it the dance the blue dragonborn reluctantly disengages from Mialee and tries to recover some from the recent exuberant exertions with a kiss on the back of her hand and a bow.

She in turn does a slight curtsey accompanied by a warm smile before bounding over toward the group's table ending in a graceful pirouette and catching her momentum by placing her hands on the table. Mialee is wearing a sheer silvery gown and a choker cameo pendent stylized as her holy symbol, a nude drow wielding a longsword and dancing silhouetted by a full moon. Addressing the table, "Hail and well met! … Hi Immy." looking around at the atmosphere of the Yawning Portal, "Isn't this place wonderful? It's like a small reflection of the city itself with so many different peoples gathering together." glancing over to the center where the 'Well' resides, "Although that worries me a little, just how deep do you think it goes? I wonder if you can reach the Underdark from down there?"

"Mialee, lovely to see you again my dear." She winks "if you're quick one of these youngsters is getting our drinks in."

Elagor returns with two large jugs, one of ale, one of mead and a clutch of wooden tankards. He sees that the group has grown in number as hoped. "Good evening everyone, ale and mead for any who want them!" he sets the jugs and tankards down on the table and takes in the group.  Some of them he knows personally, from various dealings but all he has heard good things of.  An eclectic but hopefully potent mix of characters and unique skills with which to tackle whatever task lies ahead.  With a smile, he takes a seat and offers Immy a tankard, since she is next to him. "Which will it be?" He slides the other tankards into the middle of the table so that each may help themselves without waiting.

Dierdre takes a tankard and pours a small amount of mead. She smiles at Elagor "Thank you, much appreciated."

She looks around the table and raises her drink "To good health and good friends." She pauses "I thought there were to be six of us?"

"Mia," Her pale gaze ticked from the cleric, to the recently departed dance-mate, and back again, smile taking on an impish lilt. "I'd a similar thought," A nod was given towards the shadowed depths of the Well, "How deep has anyone gotten below, I wonder?" Her musings were- delightfully- interrupted by Elagor's return and the drinks he'd brought along.

"Thank you kindly! Let's see..." Lips pursed in thought, wholly unsure of either's contents, they settled on the right and gestured appropriately. "That one, if you please." Once poured, she lofted the tankard in tandem with Diedre. "And to interesting outcomes." A quick sip was taken as she counted each of the gathered around the small table. Lucky, Diedre, Elagor, Mia, and herself... "Indeed there was, I thought, minus our benefactor."

Mercy entered the Yawning Portal a bit late. She was meeting her new party, most of which were strangers to her. That alone had already made her nervous, and now Volo was apparently late as well for she didn't see the wordsmith anywhere. The warlock huffed, fearing the worst. Would they have to rescue the writer before the job even began? To keep her mind off imagining the many ways in which Volo could've gotten himself into trouble, Mercy watches the latest group of adventurerers descend into the Undermountain. If all goes well, they will soon  be making their own descent. Mercy is equal parts excited and terrified by the prospect, but if the coin is good, she'd probably face down a dragon.

As she arrives at the table, she recognizes Dierdre and Lucky and gives them both a warm smile. "Hey guys," she says, slipping into the only empty chair. "Sorry, I'm late. Did I miss anything?"

Lucky perks up at the appearance of Mercy and Mialee.

To answer Mercy’s question, he says, “Only the ordering of drinks. Where’s Volo? Anybody know what this is about?”

Mialee acknowledges the others present and takes a seat at the table. When Elagor brings the drinks she avails herself of a tankard of mead and downs half immediately to help quench the thirst she built up from dancing. When the toasts are made she partakes with a more measured and customary sip for each.

"I believe you're right Deirdre, there were supposed to be six... ah, this must be our sixth member now." said in response to Mercy's arrival.

And in response to Mercy's question about missing anything, Mialee pours her a tankard of mead and slides it over to her, "Yes! Free drinks! And you're falling behind."

As you all gather together and await your client, a statuesque half-orc woman in leather armor that passed by your table before is making a return trip from the bar with tankard in hand. Suddenly, a hooded figure at a table sticks his leg out into her path, causing her to trip hard and slam into the ground, her Shadowdark ale spilling towards your feet. Then he and his four companions grab the half-orc and thrust her up against the wall around the Well, struggling to keep her down. All nearby eyes are on the ensuing struggle, some people at nearby tables even get up and out of the way rather than get involved. Some others stop their conversations and begin watching the scene, seemingly entertained by the sudden conflict. The man lowers his hood, revealing a human whose bald head is covered in eye tattoos. He smiles and laughs down at the half-orc like a hairless hyena. "Oh, sorry, did ya spill somethin'? Just like ya spilled the blood of me friends, ya Zhent pig? Think it's high time you took the pilgrimage down the well, I think! Toss 'er over, lads!" He shouts. 

The six of you are nearby and have a split second to interfere. Do you?

Lucky’s golden eyes narrow and glitter as the scene unfolds. A lot of thoughts swirl through his mind in that moment. Among them: Zhents have shown interest in me when no one else in this damn city would give me a second glance. If she’s one of them, saving her could be a good move.

But mainly Lucky was irritated that he had shown so much restraint against pickpocketing, fearing that other adventurers in this tavern would catch him in the act and thump him. And now these bums are gonna get away with murder, unchallenged? I guess it’s up to me to be that guy that won’t let this sort of stuff slide in here.

Kind of assuming that the folks he had just met and shared a drink with would join in and back him up, Lucky fluidly leaps up from his seat at the table, drawing two slim blades as he does so, and launches himself at one of the bullies that is grappling with the orc woman.

[hoping for sneak attack damage as she would be considered their enemy and I assume is not incapacitated, they are struggling against her]

short sword attack 8 (does this hit??)

bonus action dual wield dagger attack 20

If it hits, damage 2 (don’t get the 3 bonus damage from the dual wield attack)

if sneak attack damage applies, another 4 damage

(All rolls in the game log)

Also initiative 6 if needed (really hoping for a surprise round lol!)