Chapter 1: A Friend in Need

A tall Dragonborn guard who was talking to witnesses outside of the cordoned area makes their way towards Vatra and Butler, who are still surveying the scene, trailed by a heavy book and quill floating in mid-air. Their black scales rustle slightly as they flash their officer's badge of the City Watch.

"Civilar* Sheshtandeliath," he announces in a deep voice that rumbles like distant thunder.

"Adventurers, hmm? You six together? You see what went down here?"

The quil's already scratching at the tome as they speak bruskly with you.

Prince fans himself and waggles his eyebrows at Alastriona. He speaks up even though he wasn't the one addressed, "Good evening, Civilar Seshtendeliath! My, what a mouthful!" he chuckles at his own joke, and continues, "We're just a musical troupe on our way to some rest and relaxation after the day's toil. We're afraid we've only just arrived, and haven't clue what happened here. But I, for one, feel much safer knowing the watch is on the scene!"

Stitches, never a fan of the authorities, especially when they were armed and asking questions, slinks slowly to the back of the group, away from the dragonborn's many, many teeth. He steals a longing glance at the alleyway, hoping it becomes their destination as soon as possible. In the meantime, he listens very carefully to the civilar's voice...

Vatra simply shakes his head side to side, in a silent answer to the Guard captain.

We are on our way to the Skewered Dragon to meet a friend, do you know the easiest way around?

Seeing Stitches trying to get out of sight Butler shifts slightly to help obscure them but otherwise let’s Prince and Vatra do all the talking.

The officer looks over Prince with a scowl for a few moments, then turns their attention back to Vatra.

"Stay clear of the alleys tonight - there'll be more blood on the streets before dawn. Constable!"

A plump halfling man in uniform jumps to attention and steps nimbly forward. The Civilar rumbles some instructions at him and then stalks off. The halfling constable turns to Vatra.

"Right then! You take a ..."

He suddenly notices Xelia in the crowd, and switches his body and attention to the highborn with a small, respectful bow. He instead addresses her.

"Pardon, my lady. All you gotta do is head south and take a left on Net Street. Then backtrack north along The Way of the Dragon to Fillet. Oh, and one more thing."

He fishes out a piece of parchment from a scroll case and hands a copy to Xelia.

"The Civilar requests you verify your retainers are acquainted with The Code Legal. Have a safe night!"

Vatra nods and thanks the officers for their kind assistance before heading in the direction given.

"Retainers!" Prince huffs after the group has moved out of earshot of the officers of the Watch. "Do I look like a scruffy retainer?! Mama Xelia is fabulous but so am I, even if I wear no signet ring! Some people just do not recognize greatness even when it's right in their noses!"

Leaving the main thoroughfare of Snail Street, you almost feel like you are entering a different city. Tall, densely packed tenements leave most of the neighborhood 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 you pass by rows of run-down buildings.

You wind your way through the detour. The crowds are thinning out as night approaches, making navigation a bit easier. The shops are mostly closed here, heavy shutters and metal grates drawn closed. One nearby shop stands out from the others. Lanterns still illuminate its 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."

A few dozen yards down the way, you can also make out the Skewered Dragon, which looks more like a ruin than a tavern. Both of its front-facing windows are smashed, and a ship’s anchor is lodged in the roof. Through the windows, you can see a group of haggard patrons drinking from huge tankards.

Butler looks to the others and shrugs before heading into the tavern. Casting his eye around the room as he heads to the bar he tries to see if Floon is in the room. As he reaches the bar he nods to the barkeep "Ale if you please" and slides a couple of coins onto the countertop.

For all his prancing about and outlandish claims of noble birth, Prince seems right at home in the squalid surroundings. Strutting up to the bar, he orders an ale for himself and wine for the ladies before engaging the barkeep in idle talk. All the while his gaze roams around the room. Whether he is seeking potential threats or potential bed partners, is anyone's guess.

Stitches smiles as Prince begins buying drinks, but his mood darkens when only the ladies get a free round. The feathers around his neck bristle for a moment before lying flat again. Once he regains his composure, he marches up to the bar and casually flops an elbow on it. "Ale, if you please," he mutters in Butler's voice.

Downing his drink in large gulps, he scans the room looking for easy marks.

The Skewered Dragon is as run-down on the inside as the outside. All the furniture appears to be repurposed ale barrels and wooden crates. A variety of fishnets and rusty trinkets adorn the walls to lend the place some "charm." The clientele is mixed bag of dour characters that seem only to share a love of gambling and a poor lot in life. Most of them are crowded around tossing dice for nibs.

Everyone gives you the destination impression that you are unwelcome as you enter, except the bartender. The lanky young human wears an apron and an excited grin on his face.

"Why hello! Did you by chance happen to get our flier? We're having an 'under new management' special all tenday long! We got some fine tasting ales for silver a piece and ... oh, an ale? Yeah okay."

He looks a little dejected; perhaps this isn't the first time his business model of selling fancy drinks in a poor neighborhood has failed him. But then Prince walks in and he is excited!

"A wine good sir? Perhaps a gentleman of your discerning tastes might consider toasting your lady friends with something from our Top Shelf menu? Fire Wine, Lathander Red, even our local Peabody Session Ale!"

To Stitches, he fills an oversized tankard and gives him his ale with a curt "Yeah, whatever."

Stitches is halfway finished with his ale when he remembers something. He fishes in his pockets and pulls out a crumpled label, the spoils of the fight with the Beauties back at The Yawning Portal. He unfolds it on the bar, smoothing out the wrinkles with his fingers. Then he slaps the counter to get the bartender's attention, taps the words "Peabody Session Ale" and the picture of a squeezed lime, and then points at himself.

"You... you want a Peabody Session Ale?" A smile spreads across his face. "Yes, definitely! Coming right up!"

The bartender produces a pale drink in an actual glass and places it in front of Stitches on a coaster. He then taps the edge of the glass with a small, rune-inscribed rod, and the glass instantly frosts over. A bit of ice fog rolls off the top of the now-chilled beverage.

"One shard (1 sp) is all I ask in exchange for this unique pleasure."

The surly crowd has taken a notice of what's happening, stops their game and starts jeering. "Fuck off with yer fancy drinks. Just serve the big mugs like Shivers did, ya don't need no ponces like these."

Butler stares at the drink not sure whether the intention is to drink it or if it's going to do something else. "Nice trick....just a regular ale for me thanks" he says before turning to face the crowd "You got an issue with us 'ponces'?" he says to them as he leans languidly against the bar.

"Yeah, actually, I do!" A big man with a pipe and long sideburns turns from his game of dice and points a finger at Butler.

"I'm tired of rich folk strolling down from the top of the hill and taking what's ours. This bar used to be just for us dock workers, nobody ever bothered us. Now, this prick buys the place and suddenly we got fancy fuckers of all kinds strolling through the door. Thinking its a ripe old adventure to slum it with the likes of us, looking down their noses at us, judging us. Well, I piss on all that!"

The bartender leans over and whispers to Prince, Stitches, and Butler "I don't want any trouble! Just let the angry men have their drinks ..."

Butler turns his head slightly to whisper back to the barman but trying to keep an eye on the big fella at the same time "Well we're only here to meet a friend of ours, quicker we're done then less chance there is that things will turn....energetic in here. Guy called Floon, you seen him?"

"HEY I'M TALKING TO YOU!" yells the irate dock worker at Butler. The bartender raises his hands and backs away from you slowly.