Waterdeep: Dragon Heist

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Kharul merely grunted in response to all earlier questions, and when their ride cane to a stop, he leaned back in his seat, seeming content to stay out of the whole affair. He patted his trusty flail at his side, a wicked looking spiked chain ending in an odd wrought iron ball with scythe like protrusions. “Yer pet’ll be just fine with me, lass. Don’t go dyin’ on me, ‘r I think ta young lord’ll stop pickin’ up me tab. Same goes fer you, Goldie, shite taste in armor aside.”
 
Biz finally made eye contact with Kharul, only to turn away once more in frusteration. "I'll do what I can. It's not that easy to sneak up on me," he shakes slightly as he leans out the door of the carriage, preparing to cast a spell only if it's needed.
 
Continuing to watch the scene for a little longer, noting the crowd didn't seem to care too much for what was happening. Alveron sighed before stepping fully out of the carriage, reaching into her pouch for a strip of dried jerky and moved to join the driver in dealing with the pup. Keeping the jerky out in front of her, the wolf-pup seemed to zero in on the meat and jumped for it, nearly taking her hand with it. Keeping it busy with the food, she tried to see if there were any markings of ownership, glancing up to finally notice the half-orcs seemed more focused on the wolf and not the carriage.

Glancing between them and the wolf she waved a hand, calling out, "Hey! This lil' one yours? Seems like he decided to explore, yeah?"
 
The half-orcs approach the beckoning woman. The largest of them, clearly leading them, smiles. "Facechewer! Why'd you run off boy?" The wolf pup's ears perk up, and the scurries off toward the man, yipping excitedly with the jerky in his mouth. The man scoops up the pup and gives him a pat on the head.

"Greetings, I am Lug Toothbreaker. We were just training this little guy when he took off running. Sure do appreciate you keeping him occupied for us. He's so small he could have easily gotten lost for good, or trampled." The orc shuddered at the thought.

"Anyway, I do appreciate it. Please allow me repay the kindness." He pulls a dragon out of his pouch offering it to Alveron. As his hand stretches out, his sleeve pulls up, slightly exposing a tattoo of the Crest of the City Watch. "This should get you plenty more jerky." He chuckled.
 
Alveron smiled as the half-orc held Facechewer, "Flatterin' name, innit? Nice t'meet'cha Facechewer," she gave a small wave to the pup as it continued eating, "And nice t'meet'cha of course as well, Lug Toothbreaker. Name's Alveron -- should be thankin' our driver as well, he saw the lil' bugger first and stopped the horses."

At the offer of the dragon, Alveron gently pushed the coin back toward Lug, "Nah, bit of jerky isn't too much of a loss -- but if ya really wanna repay the kindness, me an' my friends are th' new owners of Trollskull Manor, an' we're hopin' to get it back up an' runnin'. Maybe come visit in a few days when we get goin', yeah?" She smiled, "Be some of our first customers? We might even have somethin' for Facechewer to enjoy too, keep 'im occupied."
 
Lug grinned, "For you then, thanks for not crushing my pup." He offered the coin to the driver who quickly took it with a respectful bow and a meek "Thank you" before clambering back up onto the carriage. Lug turned his attention back to Alveron, "Pleasure to meet you, Alveron. I'll make sure all the boys know about your, soon to be, fine and pup friendly establishment." He scratched Facechewer on the head, "Say goodbye Facechewer. Still a lot of training to do before our patrol." He held out the wolf pup a moment who gave Alveron a thankful lick. "Trollskull Manor. See you in a few days Alveron. Let's go boy." He and the others turned and walked off into the crowd.

"Ready to go when you are ma'am." The driver called, "Just give us tap on the cab and we'll be on our way."
 
Chuckling from Facechewer's grateful lick, Alveron wiped her face with the back of her arm, "Lookin' forward to it," she replied as she waved while the group walked away. Nodding to the driver she headed back into the carriage, taking her seat once more with a smile, "See? All good, just a pup who got a lil' too excited. Now we've got some customers for when we get th' Manor goin' again. Plus," she leaned in slightly, "not a bad thing to be a place th' Watch favors. Free protection if somethin' goes sideways."

Reaching up she tapped on the side of the cab before looking at Tristan, "And -- it didn't lead to a fight. Last thing we need right now is to be chompin' at th' bit and rarin' t'go at anyone who doesn't look friendly. Lord Neverember used up a fair bit of favors tryin' to clean up the last mess, let's show 'im that's not how we always handle things, yeah?"

Settling into her seat, Alveron brought out her marked coin, flipping it between her fingers, "I'm ready to see the damage, an' our supposed unwelcome house guests."
 
Biz, still noticably perterbed by being called a "pet," chimed in as he pushed his glasses up to his eyes. "I don't actually know any of you all that well, does anyone have any actual experience running a tavern or are we just 'winging it'?" He looked around, not sure if his concerns were founded. You were one of the top students in your schooling, sureley you could manage the books in a bar.

He clawed absentmindedly at his viol, playing a few cords as he worried. What else was new.
 
Flipping the coin in the air before catching it, Alveron grinned, "Maybe not runnin' one, but been a 'tavern wench' for a bit m'self. Think I can manage what we're hopin' to do, so not just 'wingin' it'. Taverns're great for rumours an' ... eh ... business on th' side." Realizing they were in a carriage full of men she added, "Not th' kinda side business yer thinkin'." With a strange smile she continued, "One of m'Friends has skills an' talents sometimes desired by questionable folks, an' I help organize th' jobs." Frowning Alveron scratched her head, "It involves paper an' ink, I'll leave it at that."

Returning to making the coin move between her fingers, "Anyways, I think we can figure out how we wanna do this, but we'll need t'see what we're workin' with. Those drawings show we've got some cellars an' a kitchen, so we can sell food, but that means someone's gotta cook it, and keep track of stock an' how long somethin's been around." Holding out her other hand she started ticking things off, "An' there's buying the alcohol -- our ales, meads, wines dependin' on how fancy we wanna be. Storin' and stockin', trackin' it in the cellar. Gonna need t'find suppliers for everythin' that won't bleed us dry. Hm..." she looked over Biz, "someone's gonna need to track spendin', and you seem to favor writin' alot. Maybe that can be your thing, if yer willin'." Alveron's gaze shifted to Tristan and Kharul, "But then there's you two. Tristan I imagine can help with th' merchants, bein' a cleric of Waukeen, but what about Kharul? You strong? Good at any construction?" She smirked, "Maybe you can help with movin' stuff around, security, or repairs. Assumin' you'll stick around an' not jus' leave soon as Neverember stops payin' attention?"

Pausing, Alveron seemed to be thinking, "Also need t'decide if we're gonna be livin' here, or rentin' out the rooms. I like some of ya, but only person I've shared a room with for a long time was Yorrin, an' he's not around anymore, an' not all these rooms are th' same size or even shape. Either way, prob'ly gonna need to invest in some furniture."
 
Tristan sighs and ducks back in to the carriage after Alveron. "You're right. Maybe I'm just on edge because of all the gang violence and having almost been killed twice in two days. It wouldn't be polite to impose upon Lord Neverember again so soon, after all."

He's all smiles as the talk turns to the business of the tavern, however. "We take it as an article of faith that Waukeen in her glory smiles on new business and enterprises. I don't believe we'll have any trouble there." Tristan counts out on his fingers the tasks that must be done, "I shall go to the temple tomorrow and find funds to help us start up, then we must see about getting the place made livable again first thing. We're within city limits so guild law does apply, we won't want to run afoul of them. Then I think the thing to do is lock down wholesalers and suppliers, and finally a labor force if we need it. This is, of course, all assuming things go well with the poltergeist today. Personally I believe at least one of us should live on-site in case something happens and an authority is needed, and personally I would prefer to live here as well."
 
Nodding as Tristan spoke, Alveron added, "Dependin' on how things go, I'll prob'ly be one that lives there too. Usually pretty hard to sneak around me, so should help with security, an' I can make sure we get good locks on our doors." She hesitated, "Er, with plannin' for tomorrow, I've got an errand that we'll all need to go to. Back in th' Castle Ward. Doesn't need t'be bright an' early, but I don't think puttin' it off would be good either."
 
Kharul looked far more interested in polishing his shield than in engaging in conversationuntil Alveron asked about construction. He shot her a suspicious glare for a moment before determining that she didn't mean anything by the comment. "Depends who yer askin', lass. But aye, used ta be one o' ta greatest masons's down under. Ta shithole you own'll be in desperate need of a trained hand, so yer in some real damned good luck." Glancing around at those present in the cart, Kharul smirked. "Also, unless fool's gold over there's hiding 'is muscles in 'is coin purse, don't think ya can afford ta be too picky 'bout anyone else's physique."
 
Alveron laughed at Kharul's response, "Nah, the shithole we own -- your name's on th'deed too now. Glad t'hear you've got skills beyond jus' lookin' intimidatin'."

Turning towards Tristan the coin stopped between her fingers, "Well ... when I was havin' my soak earlier, I got a message from someone I really didn't expect. The current Blackstaff wants t'see us for some reason. Said bring m'friends, which I get th'feeling meant everyone in this carriage."
 
Tristan raises his eyebrows at that. "The Blackstaff?! Really? That's either very good for us or very, very bad. Here's hoping it's good."
 
Scratching her head, Alveron shrugged, "Yeah, I'm hopin' it's good ... an' not somethin' about me." The coin started moving again, "An' hopefully it doesn't mess too much with what we're tryin' to do with the Manor. Hopin' it's a easy in, easy out type of thing."
 
"You work for the Blackstaff already, right Biz? Ever met them? What are they like?" Tristan asks, now anxious to make a good impression.
 
"I, uhh, am not very high on the Watchful Order's totem pole. I know of her, but not much else." Biz looked uncomfortable talking about the order. He'd never really felt at home working there. The odd thing was that he felt more safe and happy with this group of relative strangers.
 
Going over the map of the place one last time before they arrive, Tristan makes a very important decision. Placing a finger over a room on the third floor, he announces "I call this one."
 
Finally the carriage comes to a smooth, slow stop. The driver can be heard climbing down the ladder and seen through the window as he rounds the side of the cabin. "Right then, here we are, Trollskull Manor on Trollskull Alley." He spoke as he opened the door and offered each of you a hand getting out before closing up the carriage and heading on his way.

The manor stood in front of you, the entrance on a large alley, slightly too small for such a large carriage. The manor itself was in disrepair, windows boarded up and a rusted iron gate surrounding the property. The first floor tavern was marked with a sign that hung by a single of the two rings reading Trollskull Tavern. In one of the windows, a sign read Open, but a notice hung on the gate declared the property closed and unfit for business. Thick moss and vines clung to the sides of the building, at some moments it seemed they were the earth reaching up to reclaim the land and pull the manor into the depths, at others they seemed to be the only thing holding the building together and keeping it upright.

In front of the manor, between the gate and the building, there was a small, cracked and overgrown path, and to either side of the path tall, thick grass and weeds which choked at the solitary tree planted on the property. Around the side of the manor, you find stairs leading up into the residence.

Further into the alley, shops and businesses were obviously occupied, open for business but not busy. It was clear the presence of a tavern in such a state was not good for their business. A shop at the close end of the alley bore a sign with no text, only a single, large bent nail sticking from it. Across from it, smoke and steam billowed from a small building whose sign read Steam and Steel. Directly opposite the access small street allowing access to the alley was a three story town house. The third floor was made of a semi-translucent glass, and something inside created a beautiful array of colors. The sign read Corellon's Crown. A few doors down in the other direction, a large unremarkable building with only a black and orange sign baring a cat's eye and the name Tiger's Eye. To the right of the simple door, mounted to the wall sat an odd brass button. Finally, at the far end of the alley a bookstore with a sign of a golden dragon curled rightly around a treasure horde containing various books and scrolls.
 
Standing in front of the Manor, Alveron took a deep breath before speaking a single word: "Right." Her hands rested on her hips as she looked over the structure she and the people next to her now managed to own, then her gaze wandered down the streets, noting the other businesses who probably resented the mess along their street.

"Maybe a lil' more worse for wear than I expected, but we can deal with it." She smirked, "First we'll have to make sure we don't have anyone stayin' here without payin' rent -- livin' or otherwise."
 
Tristan steps out of the carriage and just stares at the place for a minute. "It's a wonder this place hasn't been demolished yet. Definitely no shortage of work to be done."

Spotting the OPEN sign in the window, he chuckles a bit. Tristan goes to open the door and walk in, intent on at least changing the sign...
...Only to be immediately stymied by a locked door. "Did anybody give us a key to this place when we got the deed?" he asks, already knowing the answer.
 
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Tristan finds himself stopped by a locked door which Alveron offers to open with her thieves' tools. She kneels in front of the door, finding an all too simple lock. After just a moment of practiced work, the lock clicks and the door swings open.

The interior of the tavern is a stark contrast to the exterior. From the interior it's easy to see that the grimy look of the windows is on the exterior of the home, between the windows and the boarding. The seating area is full of tables and chairs, well worn and in a bit of disrepair, but each in its appropriate place for a smooth functioning tavern. The bottles behind the bar, though aged and mostly empty, are all clean and organized and likewise with the barware. The candles around the tavern which would typically provide light late into the evening are burned down to the candelabras, making it difficult to close the door. One thing in particular stands out, there's no dust or cobwebs on any of the surfaces, the place appears to have been cleaned.

As Tristan turns the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, footsteps can be heard from the floors above.
 
Kharul grunted as he stepped out of the carriage, squinting at the building in the sunlight as he thought back to the strange looks he was getting from the human girl. Don't know what her fookin' deal is, but I doubt it's anythin' good. 'robably one of those odd fookers who get their jollies off with dwarves. As he heard the lock to the door to the manor click, he quickly followed after. He was grateful to escape from the bright light and glanced around the main room before pausing as he heard the footsteps upstairs. He was just about to hush everyone before Tristan spoke up, and he groaned inwardly, reaching for his flail. Glad ta see we aren't tryin' ta be fookin' subtle 'bout it. Here's hopin' this bastard is ta fleshy type. Glaring over at Tristan, he spoke in a gruff whisper. "No one's meant ta be 'ere. Whoever this is, we didn't want em knowin' we were comin'."
 
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