Deeds Done Before Dawn (Waterdeep: Dragon Heist Playthrough Session 4)

Chapter 4, Scene 1: 
Between Air and Darkness

The wind howls outside the mansion and the window shutters clatter and shake in their frames, barely hanging on their hinges. Light rain begins to fall, pitter-patter on the rooftop, entering the mansion through the cracks and gaps in the wood. The sounds lull the new owners of Trullskull Manor into a deep restful sleep, tucked tight in their sleeping bags, their new guest curled in the middle of a protective circle.

Myta can't quite make out what startles her during the night. She usually does not sleep, but trances, a deep meditative state similar to sleeping. It feels as if chilly fingers touched her cheek, and when repeating her gestures she sees her own fingers come away moist. She couldn't have been crying, could she? No, it was most likely seepage from the rain outside, the upper floor must be already flooded, she thinks. The elf takes a moment to look around at her companions. Silvo is snoring loudly as usual, his snores almost drowning the sounds of the wind outside. Gwen mumbles softly in her sleep but not even Myta's elven ears can make out what she is saying. Ruz and Bran sleep close together, while Boddynoch is the furthest from the group, tucked in a corner of the fireplace. In the center, the nest of blankets that they had put together for Morningmist is empty.

Myta looks for the goblin girl around the room but cannot find her, so she then wakes up the others. Everyone except Bran and Boddynoch promptly wakes and starts looking for Morningmist, the two impossible to rouse. Quickly, they search the house, but find no trace of the goblin girl, although Myta does find the turret window open and pools of water underneath it and on the second floor, as she had surmised.

Suddenly, the pitter-patter outside calms and the wind slows as well from a whirlwind noise to that of a caress. The storm seems to have broken suddenly. Seeing as Morningmist is not inside, Myta goes out into the garden to look for her, but the rain has wiped away any footsteps she might have left. Myta still scans the surroundings, including the rooftops and realizes she can barely make out a figure on the roof of their manor, before said figure disappears inside the shadow of the turret, hidden from her view.

She goes back inside, only spares a few seconds to tell the others about her find, and then goes upstairs, squeezes her body outside the same window she had found open earlier and gets up on the roof. The slats of wood are wet and parts of the roof are rotten through, so a few times she slips and falls a few feet down the roof, before catching herself and continuing. At one point, a leg goes through the roof tiles, leaving another gaping hole in their house, but she catches the edges, her nails digging in the wood around, and then drags her way out.

It takes her the better part of half an hour to reach the other side of the roof, behind the turret, and when she gets close, she draws her weapon. She strains her hearing, trying to ascertain if there is still a person on the other side, perhaps waiting to ambush her, but she hears nothing so she moves forward, coming face to face with a shadowy figure, almost ghost-like in its appearance except it does not give off a menacing aura, but exactly the opposite. There is something about the glow surrounding this female form that Myta finds familiar and reassuring. It is at that exact moment that the moon peeks through the clouds and its light shines exactly at the right angle to make the figure seem formed of thousands of glowworms, and Myta sees a vision - or a memory- of another place where she had noticed hundreds and thousands of sparkling lights amidst tall majestic trees: her home in the Feywild. The vision is as real as if she were standing there now. She can smell the incense from the herbs the elves burn to keep the insects at bay, hear the crickets and frogs and night birds in the forest all around her, feel the touch of elvish magic woven tight in the very nature around her, see her hands glowing in the sharp moon light. Everything is familiar yet something is wrong.

The vision fades as abruptly as it started and the aura she had seen before disappears, seemingly retreating to one point: the ring on Morningmist's hand. The ring has grown and now covers the back of her hand, forming an intricate symbol from the tightly interwoven strands of mythril. Myta faintly recognizes it as rune-like in appearance. Morningmist herself is drenched to the bone but her face reveals no discomfort and at first she does not rouse when Myta tries to shake her out of her trance, only to gradually come to herself. She opens her eyes and they are round silver pools, slowly retreating back to their yellow glow.

"What are you doing here? Do you want to get yourself killed?" Myta scolds her while at the same time cajoling her down the roof, towards the window.

"Selune called and I answered." There is a different tone to her voice as well, less sharp, as if a veneer of honey enshrouds her words.

"And she couldn't have bloody called when we were all awake!" Myta grumbles. "Your jewelry is different."

Morningmist looks at her hand and just agrees. "It is."

"Do you know what that is for?" Myta asks right before they arrive at the window, everyone waiting for them on the other side of the windowsill.

"No. But it is important."

They then make their way inside and the group wraps them in blankets and urges them close to the fire to warm up and go back to sleep.

In the morning, they are all awoken by the sharp cries of the broad crier with the current Waterdhavian news.

[Goblin Invasion - time to shut the city gates? Read all about it!]
[Black Viper Strikes Again: famous Malakhar Diamond Stolen!]

Silvo hurries outside to catch the broadcrier just as she delivers her latest news, and hands her five copper for the sheet:

[War in the Streets: stay inside after dusk.]

The broadsheet is brought back inside and avidly read by the party, but it does not reveal more information than they had already gleamed so far. Several other goblin bodies, possibly some of them Morningmist's friends, have been found murdered, the Xanathar and Zhentarim continue their fight with one another and the citywatch are having a tough time keeping track of all the killings. 

Chapter 4, Scene 2: New Bedfellows

"Our most pressing concern is still money, is it not?" Silvo asks once the conversation regarding the broadsheet has died down. "Other than our empty bellies, that is? How about we head to the Yawning Portal? We get some breakfast and while doing that, I'm sure someone would be glad to pay for our services." He conveniently forgets to mention that while most of the group was out climbing Mount Waterdeep, he had been contacted by a flying snake and instructed to find Davil Starsong in the Yawning Portal, if he were interested in coin.

Therefore, the group makes their way to the well-known tavern. Once there, they approach the bar where a red-haired green-eyed barkeep is cleaning glasses and sorting the various alcohols, filling up some bottles that had been depleted with more alcohol from casks. Unlike in the evenings, where the staff tends to wear more revealing clothing, to attract customers but also to fend off some of the heat produced by so many bodies and so much back-and-forth, the bartender is wearing breeches with a yellow buffy-sleeved hemp shirt and a leather corset. Her hair is left to flow freely, framing her head in a mane of red.

"Can I get you something or are you just going to stare at me?" She addresses Bran, who happens to be nearest to the side she'd been working on.

"We're starving. Breakfast would be nice."

She scowls. "Do I look like a cook to you? Does this look like a restaurant? Come back in the evening for that, when there's an actual cook here."

"But if we come back in the evening, it wouldn't be breakfast anymore, would it?"

Silvo also intercedes. "Aren't you supposed to have the best customer service in town or some such?"

She grins. "Not paid high-enough for that, dwarf."

"Shouldn't be so hard to put together some eggs, right?" Gwen asks softly and the girl behind the bar sighs at their insistence.

"Fine, fine. If it'll get you off my back. Anything to drink with that?"

"Seems a bit early in the morning to start drinking, but once in the Portal..."

"So ale then." The barman says before pouring swiftly each of them a tankard and then going towards the kitchens.

While they wait, Silvo makes his way towards the half-orc woman he had seen before. He reasons that she seems to be a regular, so she would surely know of a Davil connected to the Zhentarim.

"What business do you have with him?" She inquires.

"I got a flying snake message telling me to meet him here. Seemed important."

At that, she rises from the chair that she was back-leaning against the wall, stretches her arms and her muscled form gives Silvo a good idea of the level of threat she poses if he were to fuck with her. She then makes her way towards the upper levels of the tavern. Silvo follows and the group, curious as to what the dwarf is up to, come after them as well. For a moment Yagra looks the newcomers up and down to ascertain the threat level, but then resumes walking towards her original direction.

On the second floor of the Yawning Portal, sitting at a table and reading sheets of paper, is a blond elf, dressed in elaborate but not ostentatious clothing. He notices the group approaching, puts his reading material away and pulls a chair next to him.

When Silvo makes to sit down on the chair, he is immediately pierced by the elf's dark gaze, as is anyone else other than Myta. She scowls and pulls the chair further away from him but does sit down on the chair he pulled out.

"You have made quite a name for yourselves already, due to saving Ranear Neverember and successfully shutting down one of Xanathar's bases of operation. I could use having people like you in my organization."

"And which organization would this be?" Bran asks.

Silvo then explains. "The Zhentarim. I may or may not have gotten a message from them to exchange business ideas."

"We are quite influential around town." Davil covers up for Silvo, noticing the tension in the party. "Like all good businessmen, we have a bit of a reputation, but it is mostly uncalled for."

"I can't believe I'm here. The Watch would definitely have another word for them than businessmen. We shouldn't be here." Bran says.

"Even for gold?" Davil intercedes. "I have a job for you, and it really is for the good of the city. Someone has been killing half-elves and elves in Waterdeep, you see. The Watch are too caught-up in the Zhentarim and Xanathar scuffles to care much, and I have my hands busy with that as well, as you may imagine. Which is why I am willing to hire a bunch of adventurers to find the culprit for me."

"And you're taking an interest out of humanitarian reasons?" Myta scowls. "Or are these your men that are being killed."

"Dear lady, I would think that you more than anyone else in the group would understand how horrified I am that our kin are being killed in the streets and nothing is being done about it. Couldn't one even say it is our duty as elves to look into it?"

"How much would we get for it and what would we be agreeing to, exactly?" Boddy asks.

"Fifty dragons each, and the Zhentarims' and my gratitude, certainly."

"And would that mean we would be part of the Zhentarim? I'm sure you can understand why we would prefer anonymity." Gwen says and almost everyone else nods, although probably for entirely different reasons.

"Certainly not, especially if you don't wish to. We tend to keep the identity of our members close to heart, so-to-say. And anyway, you aren't brothers just for finding out the name of a killer. It certainly takes a bit more than that. And in this case, that is what I am asking you to do. Find out who the killer is, bring me information I can act on, and you get your payment, no strings attached."

"How about we also find out another Xanathar hideout in the city?" Silvo pleads. 

"It could be beneficial for you. We clear it out, but the Zhentarim don't get involved."

"Except the Watch would pin it on us either way."

"But your men are being killed by them as we speak, are they not?" Silvo asks.

"When the time comes to share with you a location, I shall do so, if you complete this mission successfully."

Silvo looks at the group, trying to gouge their willingness to do the job. To his surprise, it seems that most of them are on board with the plan. Myta shrugs and succinctly gives the reason. "He's killing people." And then she turns to Davil and says. "Give us all the details you know."

The smile that Davil directs at Myta is warmer than the grin he has shown so far, pure almost in its appreciation.

"There's been three killed so far. All sailors, all in the Sea Ward, around the same place: Ship Street. They were from different ships, arrived in Waterdeep at different times and for different reasons. All decapitated. The Watch picked up the corpses, but that's about all the investigation they've made so far."

Bran scowls at the repeated mentions of the watch, but Boddynoch takes it in stride and asks. "Who were the men? Do you know their names?"

"Trairan, Oselor, Xanabor. Although I am not sure what good it will do you." Davil replies.

"Perhaps there is a link after all. If we find something out, we'll let you know." Silvo says. "And let's keep exchanging business opportunities, shall we, hahaha."

"As long as the opportunities are so lovely, I would be happy to." Davil says while looking at Myta. Barely paying him a second glance, the elf maiden stands up and leaves the table, heading downstairs. Conversation finished, the party makes their way down, finds their breakfast gone cold at the bar and wolves it down and then head immediately to solve the case.

Their first stop is the docks, but they have very little luck getting information out of the old seamen. Words like earthlober and dryears are used a few times and the party decide to quit while the day is still young and choose different avenues of investigation. Hoping that a look at the bodies could reveal more at least about the cause of death, they head towards the closest watch post.

Outside Belnimbra's watch post, the green and gold lantern hung outside sways with each gale of wind, its squeaks inaudible in the din caused by people milling in and out at all times, watchmen and waterdavians alike. There's not enough room inside for the whole party and only Bran and Boddynoch manage to get a hold of the rorden: Tirul Thelance, a stocky dwarf with a big hooked nose and a beard like a fluffy goat tail, white tip included. Neither Bran nor Boddynoch are particular smooth talkers and the rorden seems more inclined to throw them on their asses, but by chance sergeant Seth Grosbaton walks in.

"Bran my boy!" The cheerful seven foot tall watchman greets Bran with a bear-like hug and a strong pat on that back that almost causes him to cough up a lung. "How are you, boy? Haven't seen you since that dreadful business with your partner. Now some men might blame you for abandoning your duty so easily after that, but I know better than most how close the two of you were. I'm just sorry we couldn't do more, really. How's your mother? Still the prettiest lady in Waterdeep, I'd wager. Haven't seen her in a while. Mind if I stop over one of these days, renew the acquaintance?"

It's hard to keep up with Seth's words, let alone his wide hand motions that more than once push one Waterdhavian to one side or the other, as he leads Bran and Boddynoch to a quieter area towards the back of the watchpost.

"She's fine. I'm sure she'd be happy to see an old friend." Bran comments and Boddynoch hides a smile beneath his palm, as he sees the twinkle he expected to see in the man's eye, to which Bran is mercifully ignorant.

"I'll make sure to pop by with some nice wine and a fresh duck. There's no one in town that can cook a better duck roast than your ma', and the watch cantine has been getting to me. I think I might have lost some pounds. Can't have that, can we?"

"You're always welcome, Seth. But if you don't mind my barging in, it sure is a godsend to meet you here. I could use your help with an investigation, I'm running." Bran says.

"Investigation, you say! Why I'll be damned, you can take the men out of the watch but you can't take the watch out of the man, can you?" He laughs rambunctiously and pats Bran on the shoulder. "Sure thing, son, what can I help with?"

"You might have a couple of bodies down in the cellar that haven't been transferred to the castle yet. They should be fresh, and with the guilds fighting a turf war, I figured you were knee-deep in bodies and there'd be less expedience in shipping them off."

"You're right about that, I say. Good thing the weather is taking a turn otherwise the stink around here might be unbearable. I'll take you to the cellars, see if you can find these bodies you're looking for. I warn you though, you'll have to dig deep yourself. We don't have the manpower to help sort them out for you, and I'm not getting further than the corridor. I'll chase after a knife-wielding maniac any day if I don't have to step a foot in there."

The three men make their way down the narrow hallways of the watchpost, a few floors beneath the cell area, to a point where double iron doors impede further advancement. The sergeant takes out a key, turns it in the lock, kicks the door open with a mighty kick and then retreats back whence he came after instructing Bran to leave the key with the rorden once they're through.

Thus Bran and Boddynoch find themselves in the middle of a large room chiseled out it seems from the rockbed, where on each wall, shelves have been carved, and on each shelf rests a decently sized coffin. On the shelves there is room for twenty or so coffins, but the holding capacity of the mortuary seems stretched to the limit, as on the tables in the middle of the room, originally intended for just one body to be laid out while examined, piles of bodies are currently resting.

Bran does not seem fazed at digging into the corpses on the table, some fresher than others, until he finds the decapitated ones he was looking for. By the time he finds the heads and gets down to investigating, there is not an inch of his clothes that has not been covered in gore and human remains. Boddynoch gags a little at the spectacle but obediently sticks close to Bran as he is handed bits and scraps of clothing and other items he would prefer not to know what they are, as Bran performs his examination.

Bran is not a medic per say, but he has read a few treaties on the human body in his spare time, and he comes to a few conclusions in the few hours he spends with the bodies.

Firstly, the decapitations seemed to be made postmortem. The cause of death on two of the bodies had actually been strangulation.

Secondly, on one of the bodies, there were no signs of strangulation, but instead a multitude of slash wounds from a sharp blade. But upon further investigation, it looked as if the slash wounds were mostly superficial and the only clear indication of cause of death was a tear in the man's heart valve that could not have been caused by a sharp object, combined with splinters of bones from a rib. Something small but incredibly powerful had made its way inside the man's body, carved a hole from the front to the back and left without leaving any trail.

The conclusion Bran came to was that whoever the killer was, he was very meticulous about hiding the true cause of death, possibly so it could not be linked back to him. He also didn't seem to have a type, as other than the victims race, their appearance could not be more different.

It is up to Boddynoch to drop off the key with the rorden, as even with the best of efforts, it is impossible to remove the gore from Bran's clothes, and then they take back-alleys to arrive back at Trollskull Manor, avoiding too much attention drawn to them and their stench.

After getting clean and eating dinner, the party decide to briefly visit Embrik and Avi, to ask them whether they had any knowledge about the weapon that could have caused the rib to splinter, but the smithies do not have any convenient answers. Passing by the entrance to the sewers, they decide that a brief look-see could not hurt, especially as it is this close to their home, but an hour's expedition in the narrow corridors only leads to a deadly battle with mutated spider-like creatures and after a hasty retreat, they turn in for the night.

The next morning dawns as dreary and overcast as the days before, and the smell of freshly cooked breakfast is the only thing that manages to rouse them from their warm cocoons. It seems that Silvo and Myta had acquired some basic utensils for cooking the day before while the rest of the party were investigating the Dock Ward, and between Gwen and Morningmist a hearty breakfast of toast, eggs and bacon with caramelized onions is made.

Seeing as a large group of people asking questions would only attract suspicion in the Dock Ward, it is up to Bran and Boddynoch to investigate the dock, see if there are any new ships in port with a crew made predominantly of elves or half-elves, while the others spread around the several bars and taverns to drink, make idle conversation, and see what tidbits they can find out.

Help in gathering information regarding the various vessels docking into the harbor is found in the unlikely figure of a gnomish dark clerk. Pootsy has bright pink hair and underneath the dark gray apron that all dock-clerks have to wear, she has a bright yellow dress with red flowers stitched from silk thread. The dress sleeves are rolled up in a haphazard fashion as she carries various scrolls from one desk to another, while talking with Boddy across the counter.

"Like I was saying" she starts, picks up a scroll on the right and swiftly passes it to the left desk. Boddy still cannot see her face behind the pile. "Oh right, here we are... ships with elf crew, you mentioned?" Boddy rolls his eyes as he had indeed mentioned this thrice already. "I'm afraid there aren't a lot of those. Lots of ships have a motley crew, you know, and we don't really keep records on that, but the one ship that stands out is this one."

Trying to arrange the scrolls so that they don't end up falling to the ground turns out to be an insurmountable task as about twenty parchments tumble to the floor. For a moment, Pootsie seems at a loss of what to do, her dark green eyes glisten behind the unusually wide framed glasses. Boddynoch, finally able to see the owner of the pink hair, smiles in surprise at how very pretty Pootsie actually is, and how young she looks.

"So...rry", Pootsie mumbles and then proceeds picking up scrolls one by one trying to find the relevant information about the ship she had mentioned earlier. Boddy resolves to give up the defensive position behind the counter and deftly - as if the counter gate had actually been left wide open and not locked - joins Pootsie in tidying up and finding the scroll. A few minutes later, the information is retrieved: "The Red Coquette", an elf vessel that had not been scheduled to port in Waterdeep, had to make an abrupt stop due to damage to the hull sustained during the fight with a kraken. There is unfortunately no actual information of the names of the individual crew.

"I know I haven't been much help." Pootsie says and Boddy is swift to reassure her that no, she'd actually been of great help and he will be sure to come again whenever they need some more information. About ships.

"I wouldn't mind it not being about ships." Pootsie stutters and blushes.

Boddynoch leaves the dockmaster offices with about the same amount of information he had when he went in, but in a much better mood.

Unfortunately, an evening of gambling at the docks and look-outs at the Red Coquette do not bring them closer to finding out the identity of the assassin, and they are left with nothing to do but haunt the gambling bars in the area hoping to catch him in flagrant, although fully aware that he does not strike every night.

The assassin indeed does not strike that night, nor the next couple of nights that follow, and while the party attempts to insinuate themselves at bar and gambling venues, they are none the wiser regarding the identity of their target.

Chapter 4, Scene 3: Rooftop Chases and Mysteries Unraveled

With just one night to go until the dark moon, there is very little light to keep the party company as they wait for the assassin to attack. Hoping to lure him in, Myta had acquired a sailor's suit and after some gambling in a bar, is swaggering through the alleyways, pretending to be inebriated. Yet every figure that passes seems to be another drunk sailor. At some point during the night the wandering watch patrol takes notice of the group, but the watch isn't too particular in rounding up people that are contributing to the sturdy Waterdavian economy, so they are left to their own devices.

It is the early hours of Uktar the 6th when a shadow makes its way through the darkness, across the rooftops towards Myta. It noiselessly lands behind her and in a swift move, the elf has a garotte around her throat, restricting her breath and tearing its way into the soft skin of her neck. She cannot yell for help due to the pressure. Her first instinct is to lift her hands and try to protect her neck, but she realizes that with him behind her, she has little leverage in doing that. So instead, she allows the wire to dig even deeper, to the point where she can feel blood seeping into the tunic underneath her armor, and wrenches her elbow back in a powerful blow impacting him in the plexus. The attacker loses his tight grip on the garotte for a moment, but that is enough for her to duck down, grab the pommel of her sword and unsheathing it slice across his calves. The blow impacts and he grunts but recovers surprisingly fast and with an elegant movement, brings out his shortsword, a more delicate weapon than the one Myta is using but no less effective.

Myta cries out for help but knows it will take her friends a few seconds to get to her, as they had been quite spread out to avoid drawing suspicion. She takes a good look at the hooded figure and while he swings his sword towards her, slashing her across the breastplate and hitting her inner arm, she dances her way around him, slashes the blade towards his head and even though he ducks and avoids most of the blow, she cuts off the hood he is wearing, revealing dark skin and white hair. The assassin is a drow.

Hearing the sound of the others and of a spell being cast at him, the drow barely escapes the effects of a sacred flame, and mutters under his breath an incantation. Shadows gather around him, forming an ever tighter cocoon of black threads which solidifies into a shroud of darkness in a wide area, encompassing almost the entirety of the party. Surprised by the developments, the party cannot charge towards him, and he uses their confusion to his advantage to levitate himself to the nearest rooftop, from where he had initially launched his attack.

Due to their close proximity, Myta guesses correctly where he might have gone and climbs the alley wall behind her, getting to the top of the building and then advancing further until she reaches the end of his spell.

The assassin sees her coming out of the darkness and having already prepared his weapon, fires at her. Myta is hit straight in the chest by a very strong impact, the wind is knocked out of her and even though she cannot feel as if anything had penetrated her armor, the area around the contact point is painful. In the darkness, she can see the smoke emitted from the mouth of a long pipe which he has clutched in his hands, the weapon she had heard Bran talk about. She also hears the voices of her friends close behind her and realizes most of them are attempting to climb the wall as she did.

She assumes that if surrounded the drow would flee, so she charges towards him to block his escape. The strength behind her blow makes a deep gash across his chest, his leather armor not sufficient to protect him and immediately afterwards Boddynoch's arrow hits him in the shoulder and the gnome is not so far from their position. This close to her however the drow cannot miss his barreled shot, even with her attempting to restrain his arms, and this time she can feel searing hot pain where the object burrows its way in her thigh. The drow then dexterously moves away from them, running across rooftops. Myta is in no condition to run after him as she feels dizzy from the sudden blood loss and even though initially Boddynoch gives chase and fires a few arrows, so does the drow and the risk is too high when separating from the party. Boddynoch allows the elf to run away and returns to his companions to find Silvo tending to Myta. The others had not managed to make their way to them in the magical darkness.

Battered and bruised, the party return home to recover from the injuries. Morningmist is already asleep by the time they get home and in order not to worry her, they avoid further discussions and slip into a fitful rest. The next morning, they wake early to give Davil the news, but do not manage to find him at the Yawning Portal, although they do run across Volo.

"My friends! It is so good to see you. Why don't you keep me company?" He says while nursing a cup of hot spicy wine, its flavor wafting its way towards the group. Unfortunately the Yawning Portal does not offer the best breakfast in town and the group deserts Gwen, as their stomachs guide them to the nearest open street pie vendor.

"Sorry about that." She apologizes on their behalf and then takes a seat next to the jolly man, casting a glance at the piles of paper in front of him. "Writing your next masterpiece, Volo?" She asks.

"If only, Gwen, if only. You see, I'm suffering from something dreadful." He confesses and Gwen's demeanor changes entirely, worried for her fellow storyteller.

"I hope it's not serious."

"Quite so, quite so. There is only one known cure for it and it is difficult to find."

"Rare ingredient, I understand. But surely you can find it in Waterdeep."

"Unfortunately, I have already used all of Waterdeep's resources, I'm afraid."

"Volo..." Gwen starts, realizing he might be pulling one on her. He laughs, gently pats her thigh and says.

"Indeed, rarest of ingredients, for it is not so easy to find a good mystery that with the proper amount of seasoning, can blossom into a proper work of art."

"Oh, Volo. I was worried there for a minute. Surely there are some new colorful characters in town you could feed off of."

"Only reluctant old acquaintances, I find. Not even old friends bare to have a proper conversation with me anymore. What a wretched existence." Volo seems genuinely sad when saying that.

"Anyone in particular that has been such a disappointment lately?"

"Don't worry about it, cara mia. It's about time I say bidet to old Binet." He laughs while raising his cup and taking a deep gulp. Gwen smiles at the red moustache Volo has on immediately after, before he realizes and with a wink, wipes it off.

"Well then, I'm sorry to leave you, but I do have some other issues to attend to." She says and waving him goodbye, leaves the Yawning Portal. Her thought is to continue the investigation she has been pursuing on and off in the last few days, when the party does not require her presence.

"Who needs friends, when I have you, darling?" Volo mutters and then goes back to reading his copy of the best fictional novel of the last twenty years. The cover says "For tusks did the empress fall", it has a picture of a human maiden, dressed quite precariously if not for the powerful arms of a half-orc surrounding her.

Gwen leaves the Yawning Portal, picks up a steaming rat bun and cheese pie from the Market, eating it while walking down Trader's Way. Recently, she has been getting acquainted with the neighborhood around the Spires of the Morning, in whose vicinity Moonstar Manor, the place she suspects her friend is being held captive, is. She has only managed to make out a few people going in and out of the mansion, as it seems that either the lords do not have a very busy social card or there is some other way for them to come and go unnoticed. She has not once caught a glimpse of Julien.

By the time she reaches the Spires, the eight linked golden towers piercing through the grayness of the autumn skies, Gwen is full and feels in need of a drink. "The Broken Lance" in Darselune Street is uncharacteristically filled with people, as there is a wedding happening down the street and a few of the guests had decided to pop in for something stronger, to put the proper cheer into them before the Wife Challenge. It never pays off to be sober for that. Gwen sits at the bar, orders a pint of ale and watches the men get more and more inebriated and excited at the prospect of doing house chores. A few minutes later, the bar empties again except for the one or two drunken regulars, and she has a few moments to converse with the bartender, a shy boy of about fifteen or so, who didn't look at all terrified upon hearing stories of the Dreaded Cs: "Cleaning, Cooking, Caring and Convincing".

She remarks upon that fact and the boy laughs, a high pitched laugh which he quickly stifles, seemingly ashamed of it.

"No, mam. My dad taught me better than that. He had to take over this place once my mom passed away a few years back. He used to be a cobbler before that, you see, used to hard work and rough conditions, but he took me aside and the first fortnight after he had been keeping this place up and running said: son, I don't know how your mother did it. He said that and then he started crying. I didn't really know what he meant at first, but after giving a helping hand here and there, now I know."

"You're a smart lad." Gwen says. "I wish my friend were as smart as you. If he were, I wouldn't be in the mess I'm in now." She sighs and takes another swig of her ale. It's not the cheap sort either, but dark and frosty, with just the right amount of edge to it to put hair on a man's chest if he has one too many.

The boy nods and then picks up the mop at the edge of the bar and starts scrubbing the floor. Gwen enjoys the silence and thinks about the last few days, what she has learned and how little information she actually has. She has never been the type to keep it all in, but she hasn't managed to tell her friends yet, always avoiding direct mentions. She's not quite sure why she's kept doing that. She's sure part of it is because she genuinely doesn't want to see them get hurt because of her own troubles, but with the alcohol flowing through her veins, she thinks maybe part of it is because she's not come to terms with her colossally bad idea of coming all the way to Waterdeep after Julien.

"Do you have brothers or sisters?" She asks the boy cleaning the bar.

"A couple. The fever got them a few years back. It's just me and my dad now, but he's getting old. I reckon soon this place will pass on to me."

It might seem like something a cold person would say, but Gwen had lost her whole family too, and she knows how fate feels: inescapable. Fighting and raging against it is never an option. She knows this and yet here she is, fighting tooth and nail to save Julien.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about the strange group of people visiting the Moonstar Villa these last couple of days, would you?" She asks. The boy drops the mop and turns towards her, his eyes as big as saucers.

"Did Sheila tell you anything?" He stage-whispers while getting so close to Gwen she can see the barely there hairs starting to grow on his chin.

"No, no, calm down. I've just been keeping an eye on the villa. My brother is inside there and I can't seem to get in."

"Right, right. Sorry about that. She just keeps telling everyone that I was making googly eyes at this, undoubtedly, angelic lady that may or may not have dropped by one of these days looking for a friend. An older man and a few other people came right behind them and dragged her and her friend away, muttered something about being tied to the Moonstars."

Gwen recognizes their description, they are the same group of people that had been going inside the Villa.

"You didn't catch any names, did you?" She asks breathlessly.

The boy scratches his chin thoughtfully. "The old guy might have said something. Let me think... Biden, no, that's not it... It sounded more foreign. Belial, no, that has a wrong tone to it. Binet, that's what it was. Binet's Marvelous Troupe or something like that."

Gwen instantly forgets about her drink and almost runs out of the bar, yelling a loud "Thank you" behind her. The boy shrugs and continues cleaning.

It takes her no time at all to run through the streets back towards the Yawning Portal, where Volo is still nursing the same drink as before and scratching out some symbols on the parchment in front of him. She sits down in front of him in a whirlwind of speed and a few papers fly off the table while the wine cup shakes precariously, on the verge of tipping over and spilling whatever leftover liquid on the sheets.

"Gwen! What is the matter?" Volo shouts as he hastily proceeds to secure all the papers on the table and then pick up the ones that flew off it.

"Volo, I need your help. It's only fair. We helped you with Floon before. You have to help me." She rambles. He puts a warm hand on her trembling ones and as if talking to a frightened mouse, repeats his question.

"Gwen, what can I help you with? I cannot make heads or tails of what you are saying. Take a deep breath and tell me everything."

Gwen weaves a story of brotherly love and betrayal, and then of reunification. She's been searching for Julien, who sent her a missive a few weeks ago, pleading for her help. She has strong suspicions that he is trapped in the Moonstar Villa against his will, but she cannot simply teleport herself inside the house. She hates Julien for making her go through this, but he is her only living family, and while he might be a pain in the ass, pain is better than being numb. She desperately needs Volo's in with whoever this Binet is so she can get inside that house and rescue her brother.

Volo half-listens to her story while embellishing it in his own particular way, but he is empathetic to her plight.

"I will try to talk with him. But Gwen, they hired him for a reason, I suspect. His troupe, they're not the normal sort of performers. They're not famous because they cause rumors, they're famous because they leave none. They're a secret troupe of performers, you see. Best of the best, only private bookings, limited audience and all that. They're so good that the members almost never change and no one even knows what they normally look like. Only very rich or very connected people, like myself, know they even exist."

"But can you do it? You are friends, aren't you?" She pleads.

"Well... Friends - the term - that might have been a stretch. But I will try for you. You are after all quite a good actress yourself and I think maybe not now but in a few years his troupe could use a new princess. No one can stop time, you see."

"Thank you, Volo. I'll wait for your word, then?"

"Yes, but Gwen, don't get your hopes up, no?"

"I won't. It's just this is my first chance at getting into that place other than breaking in." She seems to have calmed down a bit, although she is still shaking.

"Do the others know about this? It seems like they'd be the sort of fellows to help you get in and out of places."

"Sort of. I just... I'd just like to know more before asking them to come with me on a trip that might land them in gaol at the least."

Volo nods and passes on his unfinished wine to her.

"Here. Now relax, drink this, and help me fix this paragraph here before I go around the city looking for my best friend, Impresario Binet." He smiles and his eyes twinkle in understanding.

Closer to noon, the party - sans Myta, who is still recovering from last night's injuries - make a return visit at the Yawning Portal. Davil is seated at his customary table, eating a late breakfast. The group sends daggers towards the same barmaid that had loudly declared the Yawning Portal does not do breakfasts and then - largely uninvited - sit at his table.

"And where is your charming companion?" Davil more or less greets them as they sit down.

"Recovering from the wounds the drow you sent us to find dealt her." Silvo quickly replies before, as expected, demand the dragons they are owed for the information brought. Together with the others, he gives a detailed account of the drow's physical description, style of fighting, the encounter itself and all other details that can be recalled.

Davil wipes away any perceived smudges of oil from around his mouth with a napkin, having finished his breakfast by the time the story winds down.

"While I am distressed to hear your lovely companion suffered at the hands of this creature..." The way he articulates the word "creature" denotes some sort of personal affront. "I am afraid that after what you have told me, I find myself in the position to ask you to face it once more and this time, end it." He looks at all of them poignantly, while at the same time taking out the fifty dragons each of payment that had already been agreed upon before.

"Not for the same price, we're not." Silvo pipes in and the party nod more or less in unison. This deal is more dangerous than they had expected.

"I am waiting on some dragons as we speak. At the same time, how would you feel about trading in something else, possibly more valuable?"

Silvo makes an awkward sound of dismay at Davil's choice of words, but Gwen decides to cut him off and inquire what the elf has in mind.

"A favor. I would say any favor, but let's be honest, I could probably not do everything you ask of me and you do not have the imagination to ask me right now something I could not possible do." Davil explains.

"Apparently a mound of dragons is too much for you at the moment." Bran says.

"A favor sounds reasonable, provided it is valuable enough. I am sure that should you not be able to grant us the favor we request, an adequate amount of dragons could be made available for us?" Silvo negotiates and Davil smirks his acceptance of the terms.

The party leave Davil to spend the rest of the day as he sees fit, while they each go about solving private issues.


(To be continued)