Waterdeep: Dragon Heist

Status
Not open for further replies.
Reader mode
"You misunderstand me, my good man." Tristan moves to pat him on the back, "I meant we would do it for half of what you offered. I have no wish to see you in pain or destitution."
 
Alveron frowned as Volo moved to stand and raised a hand to try and get him to pause. "Please -- seat yourself once more, Saer Volo. I think we're all still recoverin' from events, and words might be misunderstood." Her expression shifted to a smile as she gestured to the seat Volo had just vacated, "If we're to help, money can always be figured later, it tends to sort itself out, as'm sure Tristan can attest."

She leaned back into her seat, still with the coin moving between her fingers under the table, a habit while Alveron was thinking, idle movement as the coin with Tymora's face spun. "Your friend has a ... very interesting name, I must admit," she smirked, "and while I know there're a few places here that I tend to avoid, it'll help to know perhaps Saer Blagmaar's usual route. Maybe figure out where things went astray? Or his home, maybe someone's tried to leave a ransom demand?" Taking another drink from her mug she continued, looking over the edge of it, "If you're a wizard ... maybe a way to show us what he looked like? A way to mark him out?"
 
Volo returned to the seat and retrieved the coin once more, setting it on the table. A tear came to his eye as he smiled, "I've never in my life been so glad to have misunderstood something!" He looked around, "Please, I insist you take what I can pay now, and when you find Floon, I will pay you each what I promised. Let no one say that Volothamp Geddram is not a kind and generous man."

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and began to answer questions while holding out a tuft of wool which carefully formed into a good looking human man, in his thirties with wavy red-blonde hair and princely garb as Volo spoke, "Floon is as handsome as they come for human males, but he can be dumber than a sack of bricks if I'm being honest. He's in this thirties with a mop of wavy red-blond hair. He likes to dress real fancy, like a prince especially when he goes out, thinks it makes him look important and official. He loves it when people mistakenly call him Lord. Since he's not impersonating anyone, it doesn't do any harm, but two nights ago, well..." Volo trails off for a moment and removes a pair of nib from a pocket, tossing them on the tray of a barmaid as she passes and collecting a tankard of ale from it.

"I have a feeling - a very strong hunch that he's alive. I don't know why, call it hope or faith, but he's my friend and I think he's alright, for now. But time is likely running out. Two nights ago, I was suffering from some fierce writers' block, worse than any dragon or fiend you could face. Floon came around and offered to take me out drinking and gambling for a while until I was ready to write again. The best place to get rid of writers' block is any place where you can forget your problems, the real dark, bawdy places. So Floon and I went drinking and merrymaking at the Skewered Dragon, a tavern in the Dock Ward. We stayed for a few hours, then I left for home while Floon stayed to chase a hot streak. That's the last place I saw him and where I'd recommend you begin your search."
 
With the way Volo spoke of his friend, Alveron couldn't help but smirk, 'They must truly be friends if Volo can so casually insult him while still being so concerned.' As the illusion formed, Alveron's attention narrowed in on it, studying the form, the way the clothes were worn, styling, and even the posture of the small illusion, attempting to place everything in memory for later.

After Volo finished his story, Alveron nodded, "Dock ward ... not exactly the safest of places to wander, but I can see it definitely takin' your mind off other things. Anyone you remember that caught your eye that night? Maybe someone who seemed too interested in the 'Lord'?" She laughed as she gestured to the illusion, "Dressin' like that, aimin' for attention, I imagine he probably got it from a few patrons, 'specially if he was doin' well at the table. A few ladies perhaps, hoping to get in his good graces."
 
Szilard listens intently, working through his drink, as Volo goes on. As the beat of the conversation leaves him a pause, he asks, "Not that we won't help, but why come to private citizens, rather than law enforcement? Is there a facet of this that you wish kept quiet?"
 
Petydark nods her head slowly with a look of grave concern on her face while Volo describes Floon's last known location. When his eyes well with tears her brow pinches for the man's lost friend. She sits back and watches the party discuss terms details all the while with a serious, professional look on her face.

On the inside, Pety is dancing with joy because they just defeated a troll and their efforts were recognized by the famous Durnan who rewarded them with exceptional ale probably from his private stock and not a minute later the group is approached by this Volo fella who is apparently some kind of famous writer or something and he wants them, this crew of fresh rookie adventurers to find his most valued friend. Pety can barely contain her excitement and... and... squeak.

She squeaks.

Pety's eyes go round as two moons. She looks around to see if anyone else noticed her indescretion then clears her throat.

"You can rest assured that we will find this Floon as this is the kind of job we specialize in." Petydark nods and looks at her party mates.
 
Volo shook his head, "No, no. Now you misunderstand, Floon wasn't winning. He was losing and chasing the win. More to the point, he wasn't really impressing anyone when I left and the only people interested were the men he was playing cards with - never got their names. Knowing Floon though, if he was looking for a lady, he wouldn't likely do it in the Dock Ward; he rarely mixed ladies and alcohol. 'Dillutes the experience,' he claimed, though I never did figure out which experience he was referring to."

Volo let out a small chuckle before Szilard spoke up. "Well, you see - Floon is in his thirties. That means he's an adult and adults leave Waterdeep all the time. I tried going to the City Watch, but they don't believe he's missing, just dodging me. We left on good terms, and I'm worried about my friend with all the violence that's been around. If the Watch won't do anything about it, then I'll find someone who will. That's where you all come in."
 
Volo smirked at Petydark, it was unclear if it was the squeek or the statement that caught his attention, "I'm very glad to hear it." The man tugs his mustache as he thinks on Tristan's question, "Floon was once a festhall escort. He is currently unemployed. He's always been one for a goo time, looking less for work and more to carouse and drink. Work doesn't suit him, but in the past his friends - myself included - have helped him get by. Recently he came into some money, and he has been good to friends who were good to him." It was clear that Volo did not want to speak ill of his friend, though he also thought little of Floon's work ethic. He stood and smiled, "If that's everything, you can find me here at the Yawning Portal once you've found Floon. I will have the rest of your reward." He paused a moment and looked around studying your faces before finally taking his leave.
 
Traveling south from the Castle Ward you eventually find yourselves in the Dock Ward. 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 smell of salt air and excrement linger as you pass by rows of run-down buildings.

As you turn one corner, you find yourselves on a street that has been cordoned off by the City Watch. Lying on the cobblestones are a half-dozen corpses, seemingly the victims of a 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 you and waves you off, "Oi! Get on!" She shouts, "Nothing to see here!" At the noise, the three men on their knees look over and catch your gaze, a cold look in their eyes.

Turning back to find another path toward the Skewered Dragon, you pass a row of shops. One shop 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."
 
Alveron waved as Volo left, the group finishing their drinks before setting themselves to the task. Walking towards the Skewered Dragon, Alveron's attitude and posture changed slightly once it was just the group as she spoke, "That dead thug that got left behind? He had hardly anything on him. Nothing to list who he was, no coin -- just a dagger and some flimsy gear. I highly doubt they were actually there to drink, them and ... Krentz? Krantz? Whatever his name was. Given they all seemed keen to go after the half-orc woman, I think we witnessed an interrupted hit." With a slightly concerning smile Alveron continued, "I got a good look at him though, the dead guy. If we need for some reason, I can probably convince people he didn't die ... just got knocked out and left behind by his allies. You know, at one point I heard about 'honor among thieves', guess that's not a thing here. Leaving allies is pretty poor behavior. Sloppy too."

Approaching the street that had been blocked off, Alveron once more returned to the posture and small habits of their current form, rebraiding her hair as it had gotten loose from traveling. Peering around the guards, she tried to spot if any among the dead were from the bar brawl, but didn't see any familiar faces -- and Alveron was pretty good at remembering faces.

Continuing down the streets, her eye was caught by the shop and the beholder in its window. After a brief conversation with Yorin about the store, Alveron looked over the front, noticing small marks by the window as she ran her fingers along them. Turning back with a smirk, "Well, whatever's in there apparently isn't worth much, but the mark's old, so ... might've changed, but kinda doubt it. What's interestin' is it's also marked as a refuge ... but that's where it stops." Returning to the group she shrugged, "Might be a front for somethin', hiding place. Could still nose about, see what's inside, or just keep goin'."
 
"We're here, it's cryptic, and even money that the Xanathar's guild took Floon. I say we check it out now instead of circling back later."
 
A cloud of lavender-scented purple smoke trails out of the shop's door as Alveron pushes it open to peer inside. Every wall is painted purple, and every dusty knickknack on the shelves is a deep violet. The hairless old gnome sitting cross-legged on the counter wears plum-colored robes. His cheeks are decorated with nine purple face-painted eyes.

The gnome lowers a pipe and exhales more of the lavender smoke before raising a hand. "Hail and well met! Come browse the shelves of the most curious curiosity shop in the world!"

As you all shuffle into the small store, one trinket in particular draws Yorin's attention, at first by familiar smell, but then by sight as well. Sitting on the shelf among the other purple things is a small crude knife with a handle bound in purple thread that once belonged to his sister. Her scent still lingers in the binding.
 
Tristan, standing in his golden armor, with his matching gold accessories, looks around and lets out a low whistle. "That's uh, quite a color scheme you got going on. Ever thought about maybe diversifying it a little?"
 
The gnome smiles, "The same could be asked of you, young man. I've at least got shades." He chuckles, "No offense meant, and none taken, Chosen of Wuakeen. Please browse my humble establishment. Take a look around, have you come to trade with Old Xoblob?"

Meanwhile Alveron, taking stock of the items on the shelves finds:
  • A tiny purple mechanical crab
  • A purple ring that appears to be made of brass
  • An egg with a bright purple shell
  • A purple pipe
  • A tiny purple mechanical crab
  • A small purple bag full of something but cinched tight
  • A shard of purple stone
  • A blank book filled with purple pages and lying open
  • A purple badge in the shape of a five pointed star
  • Yorin's sister's knife
  • A glass vial full of purple nail clippings
  • A purple sequined glove that appears to be the appropriate size for a human
  • A tiny purple mechanical crab
  • A purple metal can with no visible opening
  • A small box filled with different-sized purple buttons
  • An old purple key
  • A single caltrop made from purple bone
  • A set of purple bone pipes
  • An purple holy symbol devoted to an unknown god
  • An ancient purple arrow of elven design
  • An empty wine bottle bearing a pretty label that says, “The Wizard of Wines Winery, Purple Dragon Crush, 331422-W"
  • A tiny purple mechanical crab
Any movement to reach for one of the peculiar violet items was met with several short tuts from Xoblob before he finally added, "Serious buyers only. I can't give away all my secrets if you're just going to waste my time. I also accept trades, when I find them agreeable." He smiled kindly, and asked to the party at large, "So, what does bring you in here anyway?"
 
"I must ask what sort of business you do, mister Xoblob. As a set these objects are notable as a sort of found art collection, but individually they seem useless. I can't imagine them even selling as spell components; after all, who has reason to purchase a wine label?"
 
Yorin walked into the store hesitantly, unsure of why some awfully scented bauble shop would be able to help them on their quest. Suddenly,he smelled an oddly familiar scent wafting in the air, beyond the cheap lavender incense and smoke. His nostrils flared, and his legs began to move on their own as he followed the scent before he saw the source of the smell, and stopped dead in his tracks. He began to growl as memories flashed before his eyes. He was returning one night from a particularly successful hunt, dragging the carcass of the large buck he had brought down behind him before smelling smoke in the wind. He dropped the beast, immediately rushing through the forest back towards the den, his worst fears being confirmed as all he saw left was a burning wreck. He remembered his search for survivors until finally realizing that there were none to be found. Then, all he remembered was the snarling, the claws, and the howling for months, and then years on end.

Returning back to his senses in the present day, Yorin found himself still staring at the blade that belonged to his youngest sister, Nara, one of the few bodies he was unable to identify. Ignoring all words to the contrary, Yorin lumbered up to the blade and picked it up before whirling to face the small shopkeeper, his features already beginning to alter. "Where did you get this, tiny man? Where!?!"
 
"I am curious!" Petydark says as she elbows through the group to get closer to the tiny gnome perched on the counter. She leans on the counter with both elbows and looks at Xoblob "Aren't you a sight to behold? And this place," she says as she spins around mouth and eyes open in wonder. "It's so... purple!" Pety leans her back on the counter propped on her elbows and leans her head back toward the gnome. "But this is an odd location for such a shop, isn't it? It's kind of a rough neighborhood if you haven't noticed. Do you get a lot of rough and tumble dock hands that just adore purple? Hmm." She pushes away from the counter and saunters around the shop smelling purple things, leaning close to examine mauve things and almost touching magenta things.

Her enthusiasm wanes a bit when she picks up the low rumbling growl coming from Yorin. She freezes in the middle of her examination of a tiny purple mechanical crab and scans slowly back and forth between Xoblob and Yorin. "Uh oh."
 
Xoblob took another puff of his pipe, "Well I buy, sell, and trade trinkets. Knick Knacks. Curious curiosities. That wine bottle is a rarity. It's the only bottle of Purple Dragon Crush in existence to my knowledge. Sure, the wine's gone but some people collect bottles. Some of the items are more rare than others, but if it fits in the shop, it sits in the shop until someone comes along to buy it." He exhales the thick lavender smoke.

Turning to the elf, he nods, "I'll take all that as a compliment, my dear. Quite striking yourself, from a different world I suppose. I can relate. As for the location, I was given the place by the previous owner who now hangs in the window. I tried changing the name of the shop, but everyone called it Old Xoblob's so I gave up and changed my name instead. As for the purple, the color is my passion, and I don't see much business, but here I sit. I enjoy my pipe and - Don't touch tha-" Xoblob is interrupted by Yorin's demand for information.

The deep gnome drops his pipe and physically quakes in fear. "I... uh..." His pupils dilate and he tries to recall everything he could about the dagger. "I bought it off a travelling man just passing through town." He brought a hand to his nose, pinching the bridge and squinting. "Yeah. Wuh-wah-w-One gold. I figured a nice knife like that'll fetch t-t-two easy." He sucked in some air, "You can take it. It's fine. I d-d-don't know any more. I swear." He let out a heavy breath and threw his hands up like he was surrendering.
 
Seeing trouble brewing, Szilard grabs the purple glove. While the Tristan talks to Yorin, Szilard talks to Xoblob. "Sorry for the quick temper of my companion. Doubtless a curiosities dealer sees many interesting items, and coincidences happen. I would like to buy this fine glove, by way of apology."
 
Yorin’s growl intensified as he approached the gnome. “Man? Who? Tell me now, was it the man with orange eyes?” He was only about a foot away from the gnome at this point and moved to grab him before catching himself. He staggered back for a moment, grabbing his head before turning to Tristan as he spoke, snarling. “It’s nothing!” His eyes narrowed at Szilard for a moment before he stalked over to the corner of the room, fixing his eyes on the dagger.
 
Alveron had listened idly to what was said -- though they couldn't help noticing the sheer amount of purple spread throughout the small space, and at first their attention was fixated on the small gnome that sat on the counter watching the group browse. 'Never seen a Gnome that looks like that -- and now I have. Shame I can't actually make myself that small ... seems like an interesting person to be,' Alveron thought as they finally looked at the shelves properly. A few things caught her eye, namely the egg, a small bag that was tied closed, then there was the elven arrow which caught her eye -- potentially another accessory for their Elven persona -- and ... was that yet another purple mechanical crab? Pety seemed to have caught interest in it was well while Alveron was meandering with her hands behind her back. Internally Alveron sighed -- while they both seemed to share a shifting nature, Pety in this 'season' always seemed so excitable.

Returning back to the egg and the pouch -- both things that could hold anything inside -- Alveron's attention was caught as she heard a low growl from Yorin, holding a dagger that had been on one of the many shelves. Frowning as she listened to the conversation, she wasn't happy Yorin terrified the old gnome, but was glad to see he held back, even if it was the last moment. While the others spoke with Xobblob, Alveron worked their way through the shelves to find Yorin, slowly approaching to try and not aggravate him more. Some of the woman's posture and speech changed as it was just them hidden away in the corner, "Hey ... I didn't expect we'd find something so personal in such a purple-infested shop of random items." She leaned against the wall, "You've not said much about yourself -- about before we met, but I've watched enough people to recognize that dagger struck a chord with you."

Lowering her head she tried to catch Yorin's gaze as he stared at the dagger, speaking in a lower voice, "If there's something ... anything you need, you know at the very least you can always ask me to help. Even if it's not something this 'me' could help with, there's always the Elf, or a myriad of others if needed." Alveron smiled strangely for a moment before returning to a concerned expression, "I'm always willing to help friends, Yorin."
 
Xoblob stumbled through his response, flinching as Yorin moved in closer. "I don't know. It was just some man. He came in a few months back, middle of winter. Don't get a lot of visitors in winter. Human, middle age, thick black beard, his eyes weren't orange. Blue, maybe... or green? Orange I would remember." As Yorin backed off the gnome shifted obviously nervous and uncomfortable. He winced as the shifter shouted at the cleric and tried his best to focus on the hobgoblin while the woman took care of the enraged one. "The... glove? Uhh... three dragons? If you're really interested." His heart wasn't in the sale, but he was clearly trying to distract himself so it would stop racing.
 
Yorin let out a low growl as Alveron approaches, but it quickly died in his throat. He sighed heavily, his gaze still fixated on the dagger. “It’s not him. The man had blonde hair, orange eyes, no beard...” His grip tightened around the blade before he finally turned to look at Alveron with a hard to read expression. “It was my sister, Nara’s. I hoped she’d escaped. I don’t know what this means.” He stared at the dagger again, picturing the small yet fierce girl clearly for the first time thanks to the olfactorial aid. He then let out a sighing growl and looked back over at Alveron. “When the job is done, then we can talk. It seems my past is not so eager to abandon me as I it. No matter the case, you are my pack now.”
 
Reader mode
Status
Not open for further replies.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 2 (members: 0, guests: 2)
Back
Top