Chapter 1: A Friend in Need

Xelia leans a shaky paw on the table as she turns to address the angry voice. "My dear, there’s no need for harsh words. We don’t mean you or your fellow patrons any disrespect. We’ll be on our way soon enough."

Xelia's noble stature and well-chosen words calm the angry man, but also stirs him into confidence to speak freely.

"Just tired of being stepped on is all. Just two days ago, you know who walked through that door? Volothamp Geddarm, 'the great explorer' himself! He sat right over there, dropped a dock worker's months' wages on fucking frosted drinks! And then after he left, his friend stuck around and bloody Renaer Neverember shows up! That's the third night in the tenday! Those two are the worst! They roll dice with us sometimes, and have the nerve to walk away with our money!"

"Chip off the old block, that one!" sneers a halfling dock worker.

"Just another spoiled, rich noble who likes to rub our noses in it ..." sighs a dwarven granny. "Oh, uh, no offence m'lady," she quickly backtracks.

The man with the sideburns quickly redirects. "So you see, if we ain't even got this place to ourselves, where we gonna go in this city?"

It is common knowledge that Raener Neverember is the son of Dagult Neverember, the former Open Lord of Waterdeep. Dagult was recently ousted from his position on charges of corruption and questionable loyalties when it was discovered he was using Waterdeep's resources to rebuild the city's greatest rival, Neverwinter. Others say that Laeral Silverhand was decreed by Mystra herself to assume leadership in the Sword Coast in the wake of Tiamat's failed attempt to materialize in Faerun.

Alastriona floats to the bar, chain mail skirt clinking against the chairs. At the raised voices, she turns and stares at the speakers, gauging their mannerisms like someone inspecting a lobster tank.

Vatra, lagging behind the group, enters to see the exchange between the surly dockworker and Xelia. Vatra comes in behind and whispers so only his friends can see.

Perhaps we can make some friends here, maybe offer up a song in exchange for friendship and information?

"Say no more." Prince says, already getting into position and breaking into a soulful, heartfelt song.

"Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called life
In this life...things are much harder than in the afterworld
In this life...you’re on your own!"

Vatra pulls a pair of sticks out of his back pocket as Prince steps into action. He begins to generate percussion across the barstools and bartop and any glasses nearby.

"If you don't like, the world you're living in
Take a look around you at least you got friends..."

Prince continues, whipping out his tambourine with a flourish, flowing with Vatra's rhythm.

The dock workers sit back and take in the show. A few of the angry ones dismiss the shiw and go back to tossing dice, but they don't interfere. Several others are drawn in, and even though the acoustics in here are terrible, they connect to Prince's heartfelt lyrics and Vatra's skillfully executed rhythms. A few passers-by stop at the window to watch and listen. One couple even comes inside.

When the show concludes, you get a round of applause from your audience. An old Callishite man with spectral ghost hands where his real hands should be rises to greet you.

"These folk have heart. They can sit at my table." he announces to the room, and puts out his spectral hand to shake Vatra and Prince's. He addresses the whole group: "My name's Samir. What brings you to this place?"

Alastriona's eyes narrow at the Callishite's spectral hands. With a look bordering on a glare, she tilts her head slightly in study.

Alastriona detects no divine beings, evil or good. However, the Callishite's hands do register on her senses and are divine in nature. They give off a harmonious resonance, the after effect of some great symphony, that bears the sound of selfless sacrifice and righted injustice.

Stitches stares intently as the bartender frosts the glass, his fingers twitching involuntarily when the young man places the rod on the bar within easy reach. He examines it as best he can without touching it.

Now with a drink in each hand, one fancy, one cheap, he alternates between the two while watching the unfolding altercation with the patrons. He taps his toe to the tune Prince and Vatra create, but keeps drinking, letting loose with one of Alastriona's burps when he downs the last drops. Wiping the foam from his beak, he claps his talons in appreciation of Samir's offer.

"Perhaps today won't be a total loss after all," growls Yagra's voice from his throat.

The rod is made of a dark, translucent material with an even darker core. It is the same thickness as a conductor's baton but half as long.

The bartender notices your attention on the rod and hastily pockets it before you recognize anything substantive. A small patch of frost remains on the bar where it lay.

Butler nods in a friendly way at Samir and moves to sit at his table "Thanks, always good to take a load off. We're looking for a chap called Floon if you've seen them about." he says in his normal fairly blunt fashion.

Alastriona looks away from the Callishite, her eyes wet though she does not understand why. With slumped shoulders, she rests against the bar with a distant expression, lost in some inner thought.

Samir doesn't recognize the name, but after providing a description and a few details, he nods.

"Yes, the one who called himself Volothamp, his friend matches this description. Is this the man you seek?"

Samir's hands turn to luminescent mist, and the fog drifts to a corner table where it takes the form of a reasonable likeness of Volo sitting and drinking with a handsome human in his early 20s, who matches Volo's description of Floon.



The bartender protests, worried that the illusion will scare away his two new customers, but Samir ignores him.

"In time, Volo left and the noble everyone says is the son of Neverember arrived," Samir continues

Volo turns to mist and reforms as an athletic, middle-aged Illuskan man with a rapier on his hip. The man embraces Floon, and they sit and drink expensive spirits.



The mist fades and reconstitutes by the door.

"As they were leaving, the two were approached by these men." From the mist emerge five ill-defined men in cloaks. They bear the symbol of a winged snake - the symbol of the Zhentarim.



Samir continued his story. "They left with Neverember and the man you seek. I paid it no mind; the Zhents and nobles scheme alike and I care not for those games unless they bring harm to the Docks."

"From there, I do not know where they went. The Zhentarim have a storehouse on Candle Lane not far from here, perhaps they can assist you further."

The mist receeds back to Samir where it reforms as hands. The newly-arrived couple give applause, clearly enjoying tonight's entertainment at the Skewered Dragon, much to the bartender's relief.

Alastriona waits by the bar, eyes watching the display of shifting images. When it seems the man is done, she walks over to Samir and pulls out the page torn from Volo's book, with the image of an alhoon. She shows the picture and tilts her head inquisitively.

After taking in all this information Vatra speaks to his companions, I am torn...I get the sense that time may be of the essence but I also don't feel as if we should pursue this much further without getting some rest. I will defer to the groups opinion but perhaps visiting this Candle Lane "Storehouse" will be less dangerous under the sun.

Samir looks at the page and then back to Alastriona.

"An octopus-headed man? Interesting that you should show me this. There have been rumours of such a creature in Waterdeep recently. I hope there is no substance to them. If you have information about such a creature, I would share it with The Watch immediately."

"Agreed, dear Vatra. We have a lead. The Zhents won’t be going anywhere any time soon. Let us rest our weary bones and take this up at dawn." Xelia

Butler shrugs "Well, if we're not heading there tonight I'm gonna get another drink" he says as he gets up and heads back to the bar.