#deepwater tavern

[galedekarios]

waterdeep & the city's wards: dock ward - part 1

"The splendors that await you in Waterdeep are legendary. Each of the city’s wards is detailed in this work, telling you what to expect depending on where you are, as well as what thrilling things you might see and do."

[from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion]

waterdeep is divided into a system of wards and civic districts. the six recognized wards are:

dock ward

castle ward

north ward

sea ward

southern ward

trades ward

notable parts of the city that aren't considered wards are the city of the dead and deepwater harbour and its surrounding isles (deepwater isle and stormhaven island).

in this meta, i'd like to first focus on the dock ward of waterdeep.

the dock ward is often theorised to be the ward that houses gale's tower. i'd recommend reading this post by @dailygale or this post by @elspethdekarios, as well as the posts linked within them, for further details.

the dock ward in spring

map of the dock ward, 1491 dr [source]

dock ward ambience by dungeon crawler audio

general

"Ports, by their very nature, are unclean, noisy, crowded, and constantly busy places where few outsiders are welcome. Waterdeep's Dock Ward fits this mold, though its notoriety and bedlam are, if nothing else, slightly muted by the tales told up and down the Sword Coast. It was best described, by a wizard of no little note, as a riotous, semi-stationary but nigh-perpetual brawl that covers entire acres and is interrupted only by small buildings, intermittent trade business, an errant dog or two, and a few brave watchmen (who do manage to keep the chaos from spreading beyond the docks), the whole lot wallowing in the stench of rotting fish. Still, in all, twas quite a lusty, intriguing place to spend an evening. City watch patrols and guard contingents keep this ward in a semblance of order, traveling in well-armed groups of eight during the day and groups of twelve or more after dusk. Many of the roads are gravel-packed dirt, once the docks and cobblestone access roads to the Way of the Dragon are left behind. The dark, mud-strewn alleys are endless in Dock Ward, and they hide many dangers, despite the alertness of Waterdeep's defenders, so travel in large, heavily armed groups if you must. Dock Ward's boundaries, quickly stated, are the harbor and the southern boundaries of Castle and Trades Wards. The northern boundary runs north and east on Lackpurse Lane to Belnimbra's Street, over and down Gut Alley, and turns east to Shesstra's Street. Moving east and turning south onto Book Street, the boundary moves east again on Drakiir Street until it meets the Way of the Dragon, the eastern perimeter of Dock Ward. The southern border of the ward is, of course, the docks and the harbor." [source: waterdeep dragon heist]

in his waterdeep enchiridion, volo provides his impressions of the dock ward:

"The Dock Ward was long considered the most dangerous district in the city, but the Field Ward has since taken that title. I don’t doubt the residents of the Dock Ward are glad of it, for in some respects this area has never truly deserved its bad reputation. Yes, aside from the Field Ward, this is the area where most of Waterdeep’s poor reside. Yes, it is home to some of the least literate people in the city. Yes, most of its taverns are inhabited by habitual drinkers, and far too many inns charge by the hour. But all must concede this: the residents of the Dock Ward often work the hardest while living under the harshest conditions. Warehouses, poorhouses, and tenements dominate much of the area. Streets are steep throughout, and few have space alongside for pedestrians. Wandering through the ward can be a bewildering journey without a guide. Except in the immediate vicinity of the piers, shop signs and advertising of any kind are rare, and warehouses and other businesses often have no sign at all. You either know where you are going and have reason to be there — or you are lost, and a likely mark for pickpockets or worse. Streetlamps don’t fare well in the Dock Ward. Their candles, oils, and glass are too regularly stolen or smashed. The Guild of Chandlers and Lamplighters makes a halfhearted attempt to repair the streetlamps at the start of each season, but for most of the year, locals are forced to carry their own light when traveling these streets at night. The colors of the Dock Ward are burgundy and orange, and its mascot is a swordfish that has always been depicted as green for reasons lost to time. The folk of the Dock Ward take competition seriously, and they frequently draft their champions from the rough-and-tumble sailors who come to the city. (Some say they draft pirates, but that is pure slander.) Frequent complaints arise that these women and men are more citizens of the sea than of the Dock Ward itself. But if they register with a magister and pay taxes, they are as welcome to compete as any long-term resident of Waterdeep." [from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion]

the sentiment that the dock ward is "dangerous" is echoed by elminster as well:

In the words of Elminster himself, the Dock Ward was a "riotous, nigh-perpetual brawl that covers entire acres, interrupted only by small buildings, intermittent trade businesses, an errant dog or two, and a few brave watchguards, who manage to keep the chaos from spreading beyond the docks; the whole lot wallowing in the stench of rotting fish." [source]

neighbourhoods of the dock ward

the living conditions in these neighbourhoods is described as ranging from "poor" to "modest":

Abovefish: Aeldinmuth Court, Arun's Bend, Drawn Sword Court, the Everwind, Fishgut, Frostraen, the Hobbles, the Hooks, the Krakenway, Leera's Trod, the Lurch, Redcloaks, Sakiir's Street, Scoundrel's Cradle, the Slide, Spider's Web, Three Daggers

Belowfish: Asteril's Trod, the Bitters , Cod Lane , Essunmar's Dream, the Ghemmerwalk , Greathoist, Horizons, Manycrates, the Odd��, Old Elbermaen, Old Tar's Walk, Pressbow, Shipwright's Square, the Sirenwalk , Six Casks , Two Flasks

Eastsnail: Amanaster's Lane, Blackwell, Bulette Point, Candle Lane, Doerlunn, Emeskine's Shine, Foxden, Knightsfoot, Marvynhurst, Melinter's Alley, Oubliette, the Pearls, Philosopher's Court

Southdocks: Cedar Wharf, the Fishgut, Hoedmar's Trod, Manylines, Ormibar's Sky, Sailmaker's Run, Sambril's Lane, Smuggler's Run, Southshore, Sperival, Tower Watch

[source: waterdeep dragon heist]

landmarks and notable locations in the dock ward

below you'll find a collection of landmarks like the mistshore and notable locations like guildhalls, inns, temples, streets and alleys, as well as other places of note.

mistshore

mistshore is part of the northern harbour:

"After the Spellplague of 1385 DR, Waterdeep went into a decline and maintenance of the harbor was neglected. Many ships sank or were scuttled in the northern harbor and eventually Waterdeep's outcasts created a small community on the wrecked ship hulls. The harbor water was polluted and smelled horribly. In 1491 DR, Mistshore was largely destroyed in a massive fire, with most ships burning down to the waterline and having to be towed out of the harbor to prevent other vessels from running afoul the wreckage. By 1492 DR, most buildings in the neighborhood were still burned and abandoned. Mistshore was considered so dangerous that the City Watch refused to send patrols into the area." [source: forgottenrealms wiki]

notable locations within mistshore include:

Crib "This collection of partially sunken ships was the hideout of the crime lord Arowell prior to his death at the hands of Cerest Elenithil. The ships were arranged in a circle with suspended platforms in the center. Arowell sponsored gladiatorial contests to amuse the inhabitants of Mistshore." Dusk to Dawn "This tavern was nothing more than a tent that moved to different locations in Mistshore nightly." Hearthfire "The wretched inhabitants of Mistshore created a permanent firepit on which to cook." Waltzing Ferryman "Sea wraiths kept the inhabitants of Mistshore from approaching this old wreck. It was inhabited by an old spellscarred mage and his friend." [source: forgottenrealms wiki]

guildhalls, inns and taverns in the dock ward

"All sailors who regularly sail into Waterdeep have their favorite taverns and lodgings, but all are familiar with Cookhouse Hall, the large, echoing, hammerbeam-ceilinged hall where hot meals (usually roast beef, stir-fried vegetables, and a highly peppered stew) are served to all who line up and pay 2 cp for a meal. Minted drinking water is even provided. You don't have to be a sailor to eat here. It's open from dawn to dusk, and has fed many a weary (or poor or down on his luck) traveler who doesn't mind a little coarse company and dinner conversation.  The Shipmasters' Hall, by contrast, is a private inn and dining club for captains, first mates, and ship owners and their escorts only. It's very old and elegant, with polished dark wood paneling everywhere, shining brass fittings, comfortably cushioned brocade seats, and heavy plush drapes. One of the largest privately owned buildings in Waterdeep is the shipbuilding shed of Arnagus the Shipwright, who's crafted many of the fine ships that ply the Sword Coast. Owing to the dangers of sabotage and fire, he doesn't welcome visitors, but many folk go to the docks where the slipway from his shed runs down to the harbor to peer in at the work going on. A ship launching always draws great crowds. It's the nearest thing after brawl watching to a spectator sport that Dock Ward has.  The following guildhalls can all be found in this ward: the Butchers' Guildhall, League Hall, Mariners' Hall, Watermen's Hall, Seaswealth Hall, Coopers' Rest, Shippers' Hall, Shipwrights' House, and the Metal House of Wonders. The Most Diligent League of Sail-Makers and Cordwainers has as its headquarters the Full Sails tavern. The Muleskull Tavern serves as headquarters for the Dungsweepers' Guild." [source: worldanvil]

a list on inns and taverns in the dock ward from the forgottenrealms wiki:

a list on inns and taverns in the dock ward from oakthorne:

a list of shops and businesses in the dock ward from the forgottenrealms wiki:

a list of streets and alleyways in the dock ward from the forgottenrealms wiki:

a list of streets and alleyways in the dock ward from oakthorn:

listing out the following places of note with short descriptions:

Fishgut Court: A cobblestone court off Sail and Dock Streets where many strange happenings occur during nights of the full moon. Many know that Selûne herself hid in a mortal form in the tavern nearby, and her blessings continue to touch the courtyard.

Smuggler's Dock: The most isolated corner of the ward and also its safest, under the watchful eyes of Mirt's Mansion and the Watching Tower, used often for lovers' rendezvous.

Black Well Court: The small back-alley home to a polluted, monster-infested well that is sealed by order of the Lords, though it is occasionally broken into – or out of – and creatures haunt the shadows here before they are dealt with and the well re-sealed.

Manysteps Alley: A narrow alley that is the habitat of soothsayers, fortune tellers and thieves galore.

Melinter's Court: A dark courtyard often thick with the pipe smoke of curbside philosophers and corner sages (and sometimes the plotting of wizards).

Philosophers' Court: Also known by natives as "the Foolsquare", a daily (and often nightly) meeting place for intellectuals, old sages and drunken nobles alike found arguing over topics "too esoteric for a common mind".

Round Again Alley: An alley that doubles back on itself and provides a testing ground for many apprentices' illusions.

Three Thrown Daggers Alley: An alley that suffers from a magical curse that causes three random blades to fly from nowhere to attack passersby in the alley.

other notable locations are:

ilmater's safe harbour

"Ilmater's Safe Harbor was a soup kitchen, run by the Ilmatari priestess Mother Brenia, in the Dock Ward of Waterdeep in the late 15th century DR. It was known to be frequented by almost every beggar in that ward. The building's layout consisted of a cooking area, a dining room, a small room in the back, and a cellar. These rooms were provided illumination by means of lanterns and a heavy, iron chandelier of candles. Within the building's cellar was a hidden door, which opened to rough-hewn rock tunnels leading into the Warrens. Being a soup kitchen, this establishment provided free meals for the impoverished citizens of the Dock Ward. Additionally, in the building's small back room, Mother Brenia tended to the sick. [...] At some point during the late 15th century DR there was a string of disappearances of both beggars and stray dogs in the Dock Ward. This began not long after Ulmani, Rik Milesan, and some others began volunteering at the soup kitchen. A month later, the City Watchman Girnan Svann found himself frustrated at his superiors' not viewing the string of disappearances as something worth looking into. He went on to hire a group of adventurers at the Blue Mermaid to investigate, informing them that each missing beggar was connected to Ilmater's Safe Harbor, but that it could be a false lead. Looking around the establishment, the adventurers eventually discovered its hidden cellar door. Traveling through it, they came upona group of thugs dressed as Sharrans and accompanied by horribly mutated dogs and wolves. After beating up the thugs, the adventurers recognized some of them as the newer volunteers and that their Sharran identities were merely a red herring to distract from the mysterious mage they were truly kidnapping people for." [source: forgottenrealms wiki]

stinking sands

"The Stinking Sands was a local name for a stretch of beach in the southeastern most corner of the Dock Ward in Waterdeep. This beach was bordered by Dock Street and Deepwater Harbor. Along Dock Street the notable buildings that overlooked it included the Fellowship Warehouse, the Smokehouse, Telethar Leatherworks, a guard barracks, and the East Torch Tower. When the Laughing Lady sank near Waterdeep in 1372 DR, the caravel was dredged up onto this beach by barges belonging to Raulinvur's Ropehaul and by wizard members of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

starry cradles orphanage

"The Starry Cradles orphanage is a Dock Ward orphanage run by Matron Griselda Hoppletun, a halfling care-taker, and funded by the House of the Moon and the Selûnites clergy thereof." [source: worldanvil]

wavehall of valkur

"The Wavehall of Valkur was a temple to Valkur located in Waterdeep during the late 15th century DR. The temple was built during the late 15th century DR. During the Year of the Scarlet Witch, 1491 DR, the Wavemaster of the temple was killed by Mirt the Moneylender over a dispute involving the priest's refusal to bring a deceased ally back to life. Valkur was a minor Faerûnian god of sailors and their ships, as well as favorable winds and naval combat. The Captain of the Waves was the very picture of the daring sea captain, one capable of sailing his vessel through any disaster the Gods of Fury could unleash." [source: forgottenrealmswiki]

this concludes my collection of information about waterdeep's dock ward for now. it's a sprawling topic, each and every ward, and i'm sure there are things i missed or forgot!

still, i hope this was of use to someone other than myself!

[voicestm]

[ DEFEND ] : Gale physically intervenes between Astarion and a source of unwanted attention. (Astarion/Gale)

Sexual Tenison - Accepting - @architaciturn

Physically he's more than capable of handling this himself, he's strong and skilled with the numerous weapons he has hidden on his person. Mentally, however, he isn't quite up for the task. Where once he would have cared little for the advances of this stranger, just another nameless and faceless void to be given over to his master when he had lured him in.. Now everything was different. As if being removed from the vampire's thrall had cleared his mind, allowing more and more of the damage and trauma to reveal itself to him.

Before Gale had stepped in, the vampire had been frozen in time and space, the tavern closing in around him as the man kept right on backing him into a corner until he was very much trapped. He's unfamiliar with the fear that spreads through his veins, the trembling that reaches his knees, to the point he feels as if they would buckle beneath him. And how odd it was.. To be put in a position where he's utterly out of his depths, grasping for something solid to keep himself rooted to the spot.

He should be reaching for a dagger, using his claws or his fangs, but instead the wizard seems to appear from no where, a hand none to gentle, as he grips his shoulder and pulls the man away. He should pay more attention to what's being said but the exchange is.. Not where he's focused. No, crimson eyes were solely drinking in the sight of his mage coming to his recuse, like some dark avenger in the night, safe guarding the unworthy vampire spawn. Protecting him!

Astarion only doesn't end up on the floor because suddenly Gale has returned to him, an arm looped around his waist and those beautiful deep eyes filled with concern and anger. A troublesome mix. As it calls into question just what he feels for the other man. Oh, he does believe he's doomed, that the stirring emotion inside him is love. Nothing in all the realms and beyond was more dangerous.

Love.

Laughable.

"Gale of Deepwater.. I do believe you saved me." It's meant to be a tease but his tone is too soft and raw with emotion. Emotion that shines in those lovely eyes to the point that in certain light it would look like he was about to cry. "How ever will I repay you?"

[cheezits4lyfe]

Overture - Strings of Fate Ch. 1

AO3 || Table of Contents

**NOTE: This is a slow, slow burn I'm writing in real time, so apologies if there's a delay between postings!!

WC: 1.6k

WORK SUMMARY: Leandra Taldyr is a young, half-elf bard on the run. She's come to Waterdeep for the first time in the hopes of escaping her former life. But, even in a city as bustling as this, she soon finds that one's past isn't something that can be left behind so simply.

To survive (and, hopefully thrive) in this next chapter of her life, she'll have to learn how and whom to trust, hone her skills (old and new), and see herself for all she truly is instead of the falsehoods she's had ingrained into her mind in the past.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Leandra goes to an audition for the Waterdeep Symphony, before setting out on another evening of Barding.

------------------------------

Chapter 1 - Overture

It’s a vibrant late Kythorn afternoon on the westside of Waterdeep’s Dock Ward. The brine of Deepwater Harbour and savoury scent of meats roasting outside of nearby inns mixes with the barks of fishmongers peddling their wares and idle chatter between passers-by to make for a lively but pleasant scene.

As she meanders down Belnimbra’s Street, Leandra adjusts the strap of her violin case on her back. She’s never been to a city as big or impressive as Waterdeep before, and hopes she blends in enough with the locals that she won’t be a target to any pickpockets (or worse).

Leandra mutters to herself as she scans the various shop signs. “Let’s see, where are you? Seven Masks Theater … Seven Masks Theater …” She glances down at a scrap of parchment in her hand, trying to be subtle so no one picks up that she isn’t from here. The directions scribbled down by her innkeeper, Gandril, are sparse but legible, at least. 

“Sakiir’s Street — Belnimbra’s Street — The Slide. Odd name for a street,” Leandra says under her breath until she gets a look at The Slide’s shape. It’s a small, curved passage dotted by various shops and kiosks along the way. “Ah, here we go. I suppose it’s slide-shaped if you look at it the same way one searches for abstract shapes in the clouds…or if you’ve had enough to drink at one of these taverns.”

Walking in the shade provided by the shops on the western side of the street, Leandra spots the sign for the Seven Masks Theater. Her eyes shift from the theatre’s sign to a man standing across the way, staring straight at her. He’s horribly maimed, wearing nothing but bloodied rags and an intense gaze. 

Leandra’s blood runs cold at the sight of him. None of the other pedestrians seem to notice him, and his eyes bore into her unwaveringly. Feeling queasy, she tries to steady her breathing as she scans for a way out of the tight alleyway.

This is just a figment of your imagination, Leandra.

He's not real.

He's not actually here.

She's not actually here.

There's no way. How could she know?

How could she find you?

A blink, and the man is gone. Though she wants to be relieved, Leandra feels a different wave of unease course through her at the suddenness with which the man disappeared. She snaps out of her paranoid crowd-scanning by the glimmer of the early afternoon sun; glistening off a nearby shopkeeper’s wares into her big, amber-brown eyes.

Bells chime in the distance, presumably from the belfry of one of the many temples in Waterdeep. It’s one o’clock — almost time for auditions to begin. She takes a breath to re-center herself, then rolls her neck over her shoulders as she walks toward the Seven Masks Theater.

Once inside, Leandra feels the tension in her body relax at the sight of fellow bards tuning their instruments, practising their fingerings, and running various scales and arpeggios. It’s always been a comfort to her that no matter where she goes. Wherever there is art and fellowship, Leandra feels a sense of home. Or, what she imagines “home” is supposed to feel like.

She scans the walls until she spots a long piece of parchment with a quill and ink on a nearby table. It reads “Waterdeep Symphony Audition List” at the top. The various columns include time slots in ten minute increments, and spaces for auditionees to write their name and instrument. 

Leandra grabs the quill and taps off excess ink, then hovers over the space for an audition an hour from now. She writes “violin” under the “Instrument” column, then hesitates under the “Name” column for a moment. Hearing someone passive-aggressively clear their throat behind her, Leandra snaps back to attention and notices a short line of bards has queued behind her. She quickly writes “Leandra Taldyr” under the “Name” column before returning the quill to the ink, smiling apologetically to her fellow bards as she walks away. 

Searching around for a quiet corner, Leandra finally takes a true look around at the theatre and feels a bit underdressed … and, perhaps, underqualified. She had been told the Seven Masks was a good place to start her non-tavern audition circuit; not so hoity-toity that she couldn’t get through the front doors, but not so shady that she’d be unlikely to leave completely unscathed. 

But, the Seven Masks is easily the most beautiful place she’s ever seen. Lush violet carpets with intricate brocade patterns, handsome silver lighting fixtures on the walls and ceilings which emit a soft blue glow, and delicate lunar decals throughout the theatre as a nod to the city’s crest. “If this is the middle-class venue,” Leandra thinks to herself, “I can’t even fathom how nice the theatres must be in the rich part of town.”

Leandra finally rounds a corner where she can barely hear the sounds of the other bards warming up by the entrance. She spots a velvet chaise between two sconces and gently sets her travel case on it. As she pulls out her rosin and bow, her stomach makes an ungodly sound. Partly nerves, but mostly from hunger. 

She’d been lucky to strike an arrangement with Gandril, owner of the Bard Inn, to perform five nights a week for a free room and any tips she received. But, patrons’ pockets had been light recently. That, or her playing had gotten worse. Perhaps a mix of both. Between the boisterous sailors partying downstairs nearly all night long, and Leandra’s stress about booking a proper job to truly start her life here, rest hadn’t come to her easily. Not that rest was something she was terribly accustomed to in general.

Leandra searches through her knapsack for something to eat, or a few pieces of silver to get something nearby that can tide her over. But, when she looks where her money is usually kept, she finds a neatly-cut hole. Any tips, along with whatever scraps of bread or dried fruit she may have had, are long gone. “Hells—well, so much for having a night off,” Leandra mutters to herself in frustration. 

She puts her bow and rosin back in her case, then pulls out her map of Waterdeep. She’s scribbled notes about the inns, taverns, and intersections where she’s performed over the past few tendays. The best times for good earnings, which spots offer meals for performers, and her patented “creep-to-tip” ratio (or, how much creepy behaviour she had to endure from patrons versus how well they tip, and if said ratio is worth enduring). Though she had never been formally educated, Leandra was bright and enjoyed reading, cultivating research, and exploring.

Scanning over her notated map, Leandra’s eyes drift to nearby inns and taverns where she might perform to earn some tips … and hopefully a meal. 

“‘The Blushing Mermaid’ … ritzy, nice owner (Lady Moonstar), stuffy but stingy patrons. Only worth visiting on holidays (stress-drinking + festive goodwill = loosened pursestrings) ” 

“‘The Grog House’ … glorified latrine with similar quality of food, drink, and vagrants patrons. DO NOT RETURN!”

“‘The Ship’s Prow’ … decent spot, decent drinks/food, decent tips. Decent place to play if nowhere else jumps out”

“‘The Quaffing Quaggoth’ … wannabe dive bar for wannabe “somebodys” of Waterdeep (merchants, young nobles). Patrons over-tip to one-up each other, but are obnoxious. Worth occasionally tolerating for a good night of tips”

Leandra scans over her options, the uncomfortable rumbling in her stomach drifting her eyes back to The Quaffing Quaggoth. “One good night there could get me back on track…” Leandra mumbles to herself. Outside, bells ring to signify it’s half-past the hour. 

She sighs, partly with resignation and partly to try and refocus herself. “Alright, Leandra. Just get through this audition, then head to The Quaffing Quaggoth. There’s bound to be some rich bastards there drinking before sundown. Maybe you’ll get enough to still call it an early night,” she mutters to herself as she pulls out her violin, shoulder rest, and bow. After quickly tuning her instrument and running through some scales and arpeggios, she practises some of the more difficult runs of her audition solo.

Five minutes before her audition time, Leandra grabs her violin case and knapsack to walk back toward the entrance. Most of the bards she saw earlier are gone, presumably having already auditioned and left. New bards have taken their places, preparing their instruments and repertoire to make for a quiet cacophony of individual rehearsals.

Once her name is called, Leandra walks in with a polite smile and a copy of her sheet music for the judges. She runs through the required scale and arpeggio before moving onto her solo piece, a lively sonata which is always a crowd favourite. After completing her repertoire, she takes a polite bow before grabbing her sheet music from the judges to leave.

Back in the lobby, Leandra shuffles to an empty wall to pack up. There are a handful of bards left, each nervously chattering about when audition results will be posted. “They’ll be up by tomorrow at midday,” Leandra hears one of them say, which is confirmed by other bards nearby.

Violin and sheet music repacked, Leandra sighs as she pulls out her map to check where The Quaffing Quaggoth is in relation to the Seven Masks Theater. “All right, where are we…ah. A left onto Belnimbra’s, right onto Sail Street, right onto Lackpurse. Easy,” Leandra says as she tucks her map back into her violin travel case before slinging it over her shoulder to go.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Table of Contents

s/o to these other wonderful Gale/Tav works on AO3 which inspired me to try writing my own fanfic for the first time! Definitely check them out if you haven’t already :)

first light by absoluteTomfoolery

Carrying Your Love With Me (and so much more) by MercyInReach

what should I do but tend by PouroverPaloma

Dekarioses of Waterdeep by Scotsomighty

also, s/o to these super helpful resources I've been using to write this!

Forgotten Realms Wiki

Obsidian Portal - City of Splendors, Dungeon of Madness

Waterdeep Interactive Map

Detailed Waterdeep Map by u/flamableconcrete (Reddit)

Detailed Waterdeep Ward Maps & Sublocations by u/RavenxAlmasy (Reddit)

Weather in the Realms (from Dandello's Faerûnian Almanac)

[forgottenflower]

The Deepwater Tavern

Hello ladies and gentlemen and humanoids of all kinds! Today, Taverns of Azeroth brings straight to your homes the forgotten beauty of the Deepwater Tavern!

This once-proud tavern and inn combo rests in the now-flooded Menethil Harbor, and harbors refugees escaping the effects of the disaster. The tavern itself is safe from the flooding, so step inside for a relaxing, dry time!

The inside is quite beautiful, and has a very cozy atmosphere. It’s the kind of place you can bring your buddy, your date or your family!

The staff is friendly and always ready to serve! If you’re in need of aid, you’ve got a medic right at the front door! If you’re in need of wares, there are tradesmen and even a shady dealer on the second floor(for all of you that we know like to bend the rules a little ;)).

You’ve even got live entertainment in the form of drunken regulars dancing for the amusement of the other bar-goers! This totally makes up for the iff-y cook that only shows up about the half the time. You’ll forget all about it!

All in all, the tavern itself is nice, with an interesting crew. You just have to wade through inches of water to get there! If you ever find yourself stranded in the Wetlands, this is the place to go!

Special thanks to Xiaohai, Saqueas, Willashan, and Iridella!

[logicloup]

Draecember 1st - Letters home

Deepwater Tavern, Menethil Harbour, the Wetlands

A dry quill swayed gently in Tereshka’s loose grasp, nudged by the breeze drifting in through the open window. The draenei herself stared out over the broken docks, watching the last shift of workers placing sandbags and nailing down boards by flickering torchlight. In her rented room, her shield laid across her knees as a makeshift table, a nearly blank page stared back at her.

Dear Mother,

I am well.

She knew the stark, simple words were nowhere near enough to soothe the worry that news of the town’s destruction must surely have caused by now, even so far away as the Exodar, but what more was there to say?

Dear Mother,

I have lost my second home, and do not know if I am brave enough to look for a third.

True enough, but too hard to admit. Besides, Mother and Father had been born on the Genedar, and had already lost more worlds than Tereshka was likely ever to see.

Dear Mother,

The rebuilding here is hard work, but rewarding. I am almost tempted to reconsider learning Artifice.

That was just a lie. Every swing of a carpenter’s mallet made her long for a chance to smash it instead into a dragon’s skull — Deathwing’s, by preference, but anything large and threatening would do. Anything that would leave the world better and safer for its absence. Her gaze turned to the trunk at the foot of the bed, memory supplying the image of the crystal sword and the battle-claimed orc warblade tucked away inside the dark wood. How long could she leave them there? How long could she keep her anger buttoned down tight at the back of her mind and heart?

The wind outside picked up, whistling as it curled the paper back against her hands. With a sigh, Tereshka rose and shut the window. On her way back to sit on the edge of the bed, she picked up the gloves her mother had sent in her last care package. Knitted from soft-spun talbuk yarn, the pale tan decorated with silvery-grey edging at the cuffs and finger-holes. She pulled the gloves on as she sat, picking up shield and page to begin the letter in earnest.

Dear Mother,

Thank you so much for the gifts you sent. It will be good to have reminders of family close at hand — on my hands! as I’m sure Papa is thinking right now, if not saying it out loud — when I re-enlist. I know, Mama, I said Icecrown would be the end, and I truly did believe then that it would be, but this is a good fight, one that needs to be fought. I can’t walk away from that, I have to run toward. I promise you, though, that I will be as careful as I can be, and that I will come to visit as soon and as often as I can.

All my love to you and Papa,

Tereshka

Trueshot Lodge, Highmountain

Dear Thalia,

I knew that whatever had driven Quin back across the portal in search of aid must have been terrible, but seeing it all now? I would build a second Genedar for these people with my own two hands if I thought any of them would be wise enough to take it and flee. But here they are, facing the Legion in its strength, determined to stand for one great and terrible last effort, and either stem the tide or perish in the attempt. They’re fools, but I have to admit, they’re courageous fools.

And here I am, agreed to stand beside them, which probably makes me an even bigger fool. So let my example stand as a lesson for you: be careful with your promises. Never make one that won’t let you walk away from an over-elaborate pact to commit suicide by demon.

What more can I say? The Exodar, the ark for these draenei, had been under siege. The rubble of portal stones littered the halls. Demon bodies were gone — from what I have come to understand, they were called back to their home to stand punishment for their failure — but blood and scorch marks lingered. The stillness here is strange. Not contemplation, not prayer, not resignation. Anticipation, like a bowstring pulled so far there’s nothing to do but hold it tight or let it go. Something is coming. Some plan this Prophet has put into motion but kept from… just about everyone, so far as I can tell. There are rumors of another ship, but when I tried asking, I was told to wait and have faith, and to get to the island front where I could do some good in the meantime.

The Broken Isles… We make small progress, combing these islands for anything that might give us any sort of advantage, no matter how small. Secrets, artifacts, allies… That last, especially. I have courted the favor of more different peoples in the past few months than I had met in decades aboard ship. If there is any sort of larger image, something more than victories of the moment, I have yet to see it. Maybe there isn’t a grand plan, and maybe that’s for the best — how better to ensure your plans aren’t found out and countered than to not have any plans in the first place. From what I’ve seen of the human archmage, that seems the sort of backwards-brilliant approach that would appeal to him. Light help us.

And so it goes. One way or another, I expect things will change soon. If nothing else, the Prophet will reveal his plan and we’ll all look back and wonder how we didn’t see it coming. As you do, when that kind of foresight is involved. For now, though, I miss you terribly and wish I were back home. (Under other circumstances, I’d be content if you were here with me, but… no. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even Thomat, Light bless his little woolen socks.) Quin sends his greetings and asks me to apologize on his behalf for my being dragged into this. You may forgive him or not, as you see fit. Personally, I’d make him sweat it a bit longer, but that’s why you’re the Anchorite and I’m not.

Light bless and keep you until I return.

Love,

Nichieva

[killerkyara]

Kyara had started working again…Of course, she knew better than to jump into the thick of it so quickly, small jobs at first, like this–Information gathering. Working on the Isles had been interesting in it’s time, to say the least, but she knew it strained Cherry. She knew that each time she walked through their front door in the evening that she had been waiting for it, worried sick all day, because she knew better than any what the Broken Front was like. Kyara took no pleasure in knowing she had caused that, not one bit.

So, she began to pick up smaller jobs instead, and this one was relatively easy…She was to spy on a dwarven camp, set up high in the Wetlands hills, secluded. Something about a feud over digging rights, money laundering…Kyara didn’t tend to pay much mind to the personal details of the job, only what she was to do. She traveled through the marsh at dusk, hidden in shadows, perched between the trees behind the main tent and watched and listened on. It was too easy, really–She had heard most of what she needed to know within the first ten minutes of eavesdropping on the meeting happening within, soon shifting to the side to get a better view of the silloheutes behind the cloth.

Dwarves…She should have known, but she heard it too late, the sound of the snap and trigger. Of course they would have better defenses than wooden barriers along the edge of the camp. The mine explosion wasn’t close enough to cause any serious harm itself…Though it knocked her back, stole her balance, and sent her tumbling right down the steep hillside. And damn, they were fast, as not a moment later muskets were blindly firing into the brush and thick vegetation down the ravine Kyara was rolling through like a tumbleweed. And roll she did, over every rock and twig it felt like, until she was deposited at the bottom with the wind knocked out of her.

Luckily, all the bullets had missed. She didn’t give them any time to aim better before she had disappeared in the shadows and dragged herself to the closest base in the muggy marshland, Menethil. Nursing a bruised back and ribs, the rouge rested there for some time, realizing that while she had managed to keep her satchel in the fray, most of her possessions within had been flung right out of it in her tumble…Including her precious hearthstones that sent her back home. Damn it all.

Though she was in a port, she thought…How hard could it be to find and stow away upon a ship bound for Kalimdor? There was only one boat floating in the half sunken harbor, so praying to her lucky stars, the rogue cleaned herself up the best she could and headed into the Deepwater Tavern hoping to locate the crew of the vessel.

Of course, she wasn’t expecting to walk out with a contract and the need to prepare for a potentially a month or more at sea, if she couldn’t get to her fiancé before then, somehow…But until then–She’d be known as Sparrow and earn her keep amongst them.

[ @blackbay-wra, @patiencekindnesscourage for mentions ]

[kansascityhappenings]

86 years later, a dark day in Kansas City remembered

Union Station | FBI Records

KANSAS CITY, Mo. — Monday marks 86 years since mobsters gunned down and killed four law enforcement officers and a criminal fugitive at Union Station railroad depot. It was the morning of June 17, 1933.

The killings of four peace officers and the prisoner has gone down in history as the “Kansas City Massacre.” The mass shooting led to a major FBI policy change: agents began carrying firearms.

Back then a new house cost around $5,750. A loaf of bread cost 7 cents. Construction of the San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge started in January. The prohibition era would officially end by December. Gangsters, including Al Capone, controlled speakeasies and bootlegging operations, making millions in underground operations. Physicist Albert Einstein renounced his German citizenship that year and moved to the United States to become a professor of theoretical physics at Princeton. The world was on the brink of major changes, with Adolf Hitler appointed as Chancellor of Germany in January and Franklin D. Roosevelt inaugurated as the president of the United States in March.

The Kansas City Massacre started with an attempt by a gang led by Vernon Miller to free Frank “Jelly” Nash, a federal prisoner with a crime history spanning decades. On that dark day, Nash was in custody and was being returned to the U.S. Penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas. Nash had escaped from prison three years earlier.

Frank “Nelly” Nash

Nash is thought to have participated in some 200 bank robberies. He was born on February 6, 1887 in Birdseye, Indiana.  His father, John “Pappy” Nash, started hotels in several southern towns – giving Nash multiple stomping grounds. Nash’s mother, Alta, was John’s second wife. Nash had two sisters and two stepbrothers.  After living in dozens of places across several states, Nash treated Hobart, Oklahoma as his hometown.

Frank Nash | FBI Records

Several mobsters considered Nash as a mastermind. He had connections with gangs across America. Past documents describe him as charismatic, friendly, likeable, and charming. His nickname, “Jelly” was shortened from “Jellybean.” He earned the name in childhood for his poise and well-groomed appearance. He was a career criminal who knew how to get what he wanted out of people, whether the law or fellow criminals.

Back in 1913, Nash and a friend, Nollie “Humpy” Wortman stole nearly $1,000 from a store in Sapulpa, Oklahoma. Adjusted for inflation, that would be over $18 thousand dollars today. While on the run, Nash told Wortman they needed to hide the evidence fast. As Wortman went to bury the wealth, Nash betrayed him and shot him in the back.

Police arrested Nash hours later. The court found him guilty of murder and sentenced him to life in the Oklahoma State Penitentiary. Five years later, Nash found a way to reduce his sentence to ten years. He convinced the warden he would join the army and fight in World War I. His life of crime didn’t stop there.

After years of going in and out of prison, he landed in the United States Penitentiary, Leavenworth in Kansas along with three members of the Spencer Gang. They received a 25 year sentence for mail robbery and assaulting a mail custodian. That was in March 1924. In 1930, Nash was appointed the deputy warden’s chef and general handyman; the jobs came with special privileges. He escaped on October 19, 1930, when he left the prison on an errand and never returned.

The FBI launched an aggressive search for Nash throughout the United States and most of Canada. The FBI discovered Nash assisted in the escape of seven prisoners from the United States Penitentiary, Leavenworth, on December 11, 1931.

FBI agents also found out that Nash had close friendships with Francis L. Keating, Thomas Holden, and several other gunmen involved in Midwest bank robberies. The more the FBI uncovered Nash’s underground connections, the more they wanted him in their custody.

FBI agents captured Keating and Holden on July 7, 1932 in Kansas City, Missouri. The pair told agents Nash was hiding out in Hot Springs, Arkansas, a hotbed of gangster activity. Illegal gambling spread like wildfire in Hot Springs following the Civil War, with two main factions: the Flynns and the Dorans. They fought one another throughout the 1880s for control of the central Arkansas town.

By 1933, the Arkansas city was considered a national gambling mecca, led by Owney Madden and his Hotel Arkansas casino. From 1927-1947, gambling and debauchery reached a pinnacle: there were ten major casinos and numerous smaller house spinoffs. It was the largest operation of its kind in the United States at the time. Hotels advertised rooms for prostitutes and off-track booking for horse races. At the time, it seemed like nothing could stop the operation; a former sheriff attempted to have Arkansas’ anti-gambling laws enforced and to secure honest elections — he was murdered in 1937.

Law enforcement apprehended Frank “Jelly” Nash at a Hot Springs store on June 16, 1933. FBI agents Joe Lackey and Frank Smith accompanied with Otto Reed, the Police Chief of McAlester, Oklahoma drove Nash north to Fort Smith, Arkansas. All four would board a train for Kansas City that night.

The Missouri Pacific train’s ETA was 7:15a.m. the following day. The lawmen made arrangements to meet at Union Station with Reed E. Vetterli, the special agent in charge of the FBI’s Kansas City Office.

FBI Agent R. J. Caffrey | FBI Records

Reed E. Vetterli, Special Agent in Change | FBI Records

Outlaws Plan Scheme

Word spread fast of the capture, and outlaws were upset one of their most dangerous masterminds had been captured. Out of allegiance to him, Nash’s cronies figured out the time he would arrive in Kansas City. They planned to liberate him, but Nash would be killed in the massacre.

Vernon Miller was the scheme ringleader. He served in the U.S. Army during World War I and was an experienced machine gunner. When he returned from the war, he went to his hometown Huron, South Dakota where he was elected as a policeman in 1920. Two years later, he was elected sheriff and was re-nominated for the position. But he got bored of serving. He disappeared before the election – and quickly became baptized into a life of crime.

In 1931, Miller moved to St. Paul, Minnesota and Chicago where he proved himself as a gunner and began associating with gangs.

Before the night of the Kansas City Massacre, Miller used a phone at Mulloy’s Tavern, a historic mob location in KC, to plan out his scheme to free Nash.

FBI reports find Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd and his sidekick, Adam Richetti, arrived in Kansas City to aid in the mission. Their travels to the city were anything but smooth. The pair had been detained in Bolivar, Missouri on the morning of the 16th. They needed car repairs, and while waiting at a local garage, Sheriff Jack Killingsworth appeared. Richetti recognized the sheriff and mugged him, seizing a machine gun. Richetti and Floyd held the sheriff and garage attendants at gunpoint. On the criminals’ orders, no one moved.

Floyd and Richetti then transferred their arsenal into another vehicle and ordered the sheriff to enter that vehicle, taking him as a hostage.

The two, along with their prisoner, drove north to Deepwater, Missouri. The cronies abandoned the stolen automobile and stole a new one. (Deepwater is about 85 miles southeast of Kansas City.)

After releasing the sheriff, Floyd and Richetti arrived in Kansas City about 10:00 p.m. on June 16.

That night Floyd and Richetti rolled their dice yet again and abandoned their automobile and stole another vehicle. Later they met Miller and went to his home… to be briefed on the mission and drink some beer.

Early the next morning, according to the FBI account, Miller, Floyd, and Richetti drove to Union Station in a Chevrolet Sedan. There they waited for Nash and his captors to arrive – and 30 pivotal seconds would go down in history.

Kansas City Massacre

Upon the arrival of the train in Kansas City, Agent Joseph Lackey went to the loading platform, leaving behind FBI Agent Frank Smith, Oklahoma Police Chief Otto Reed, and Frank “Jelly” Nash in a train stateroom.

On the platform, Lackey was met by Special Agent in Charge Reed Vetterli, FBI Agent Raymond J. Caffrey, and detectives W. J. Grooms and Frank Hermanson of the Kansas City Police Department. The lawmen surveyed Union Station and saw nothing suspicious.

SAC Vetterli told Agent Lackey that he and Agent Caffrey had brought two cars to Union Station for taking Nash back to the prison in Leavenworth.

Agent Lackey then returned to the train accompanied by Chief Reed, SAC Vetterli, Agents Caffrey and Smith, and Officers Hermanson and Grooms. They proceeded from the train through the Union Station lobby.

Both Agent Lackey and Chief Reed carried shotguns with them. Other officers carried pistols. SAC Vetterli is said to have been unarmed. Frank Nash, while in handcuffs, walked through Union Station with seven lawmen.

After leaving Union Station, the team with their captive paused briefly to survey the area a second time. Again, they saw nothing unusual.

Mass Shooting

Agent Caffrey unlocked his Chevrolet’s right door. When the door opened, Nash started to get into the back seat, but Agent Lackey told Nash to get into the front. The vehicle was a two-door sedan, and entering the back seat required pushing the back of the front seat forward.

Agent Lackey climbed into the back directly behind the driver’s seat. Agent Smith sat beside him in the center, and Chief Reed sat beside Smith… and behind Nash.

Agent Caffrey walked around the car to the driver’s seat on the left side. SAC Vetterli stood with Officers Hermanson and Grooms at the right side near the front of the car.

A green Plymouth was parked about six feet away. Agent Lackey saw two armed men run from behind it. At least one of them carried a machine gun.

From a distance approximately 15 feet diagonally to the right of Agent Caffrey’s Chevrolet, an individual crouched behind a car’s radiator and fired the machine gun.

Kansas City Police Officers Grooms and Hermanson died in the blast instantly. SAC Vetterli, who was standing beside Officers Grooms and Hermanson, was shot in the left arm. He dropped to the ground and attempted to scramble to the left side of the car to join Agent Caffrey — who had not entered the Chevrolet to sit in the driver’s seat.

When Vetterli turned a corner — he saw Agent Caffrey collapse. He died from a head wound.

Inside the car, the blast killed convict Frank Nash and Police Chief Reed. Agents Lackey and Smith survived the massacre by falling forward in the back seat. Lackey was struck and seriously wounded by three bullets. Smith survived the whole massacre without a scratch.

The three gunmen ran to the car they just targeted to look inside it; then they decided to flee the area. A Kansas City policeman emerged from Union Station and fired in the direction of one of the killers, later identified as Floyd, who slumped, but continued to run.

The killers entered a car and went westward out of the parking area and disappeared.

The three survivors, Agents Smith and Lackey and SAC Vetterli, reported that the attack lasted all of 30 seconds.

From their account, the two Kansas City police officers were killed immediately, followed seconds later by Frank Nash and Chief Reed and then by Agent Caffrey – he was transported to a hospital and was pronounced dead on arrival.

Timeline of the Aftermath

The mass shooting sent shockwaves throughout the public. Historians have said the attack highlights the lawlessness of Kansas City under the Pendergast Machine. Thomas Joseph Pendergast was an American political boss who controlled Kansas City and Jackson County, Missouri from 1925 to 1939. He used a large network of family and friends (along with some voter fraud) to elect politicians. The Pendergast Machine helped launch the political career of former president Harry S. Truman.

FBI Records

Following the Kansas City Massacre, the FBI found fingerprint impressions on beer bottles in Miller’s Kansas City home. The evidence helped the FBI identify those involved.

Death of Vernon Miller

On November 29, 1933 the FBI found Miller’s mutilated body in a ditch just outside Detroit, Michigan. The FBI concluded Miller had a fight with henchman Longie Zwillman, the head of a New Jersey mob. While in Newark, Miller had shot the henchman. Another of Zwillman’s associates killed Miller in retaliation.

Several authors, including Jay Robert Nash, have used Miller’s death to argue that the Kansas City Massacre wasn’t about a potential rescue. It could have been a syndicate hit meant to silence Nash since he had extensive understanding of the crime underworld and a long list of contacts.

Arrest of Adam Richetti

After escaping out of Kansas City, Floyd and Richetti made their way to Toledo, Ohio. They met two women there by the names Beulah — also known as Juanita – and Rose Baird. The four traveled north to Buffalo, New York. With alias names, the four of them rented a Buffalo apartment. Those living in the apartment reported the two couples seldom left home and usually only left for grocery trips. Witnesses report the women occasionally threw money out the apartment windows and offered candy to children playing in the streets.

Adam Richetti | FBI Records

The four, in a new Ford Sedan bought by Rose Baird, began a trip on October 20, 1934 to travel west.

Later that same day, Floyd crashed the vehicle into a telephone pole in Toldeo, Ohio. Police Chief J. H. Fultz went out to investigate – and a shootout escalated. Chief Fultz took Richetti into custody. Floyd escaped.

Richetti was indicted by the Jackson County Grand Jury on four counts of murder. He was found guilty on June 17, 1935, exactly two years after the deadly incident. Richetti appealed the conviction. The State of Missouri Supreme Court affirmed it on May 3, 1938.

As a final act to save him, Richetti’s lawyers argued he was insane, but this effort failed.

He was executed by gas chamber on October 7, 1938.

Death of Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd

Following the car crash in Toledo, Ohio the FBI and local police conducted a wide array of interviews and had an intensive search for Floyd in eastern Ohio. They found him hiding out in a farm outside Clarkson, Ohio on October 22, 1934. Floyd died in a shootout with police. Records show he died 15 minutes after he was shot.

Charles Arthur Floyd, better known as Pretty Boy Floyd | FBI Records

Authorities found on Floyd a watch and fob, both with ten notches. Authorities in their report stated Floyd likely carved the notches to indicate how many people he had killed.

The four individuals who aided in the conspiracy—Richard Galatas, Herbert Farmer, “Doc” Louis Stacci, and Frank Mulloy—were indicted by a federal grand jury at Kansas City, Missouri, on October 24, 1934.

On January 4, 1935, the four were found guilty of conspiracy to cause the escape of a federal prisoner from the custody of the United States. On the following day, each was sentenced to serve two years in a Federal Penitentiary and pay a fine of $10,000 — the maximum penalty allowed by law at that time.

The Kansas City Massacre changed a major FBI policy. Prior to this event the agency did not have authority to carry firearms (although some agents reportedly did) and make arrests (they could make a citizen’s arrest, then call a U.S. Marshal or local law officer). A year later Congress gave the FBI statutory authority to carry guns and make arrests (in May and June 1934).

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/06/16/86-years-later-a-dark-day-in-kansas-city-remembered/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/06/16/86-years-later-a-dark-day-in-kansas-city-remembered/

[readbookywooks]

Catelyn

We will make King's Landing within the hour." Catelyn turned away from the rail and forced herself to smile. "Your oarmen have done well by us, Captain. Each one of them shall have a silver stag, as a token of my gratitude." Captain Moreo Turnitis favored her with a half bow. "You are far too generous, Lady Stark. The honor of carrying a great lady like yourself is all the reward they need." "But they'll take the silver anyway." Moreo smiled. "As you say." He spoke the Common Tongue fluently, with only the slightest hint of a Tyroshi accent. He'd been plying the narrow sea for thirty years, he'd told her, as oarman, quartermaster, and finally captain of his own trading galleys. The Storm Dancer was his fourth ship, and his fastest, a two-masted galley of sixty oars. She had certainly been the fastest of the ships available in WhiteHarbor when Catelyn and Ser Rodrik Cassel had arrived after their headlong gallop downriver. The Tyroshi were notorious for their avarice, and Ser Rodrik had argued for hiring a fishing sloop out of the Three Sisters, but Catelyn had insisted on the galley. It was good that she had. The winds had been against them much of the voyage, and without the galley's oars they'd still be beating their way past the Fingers, instead of skimming toward King's Landing and journey's end. So close, she thought. Beneath the linen bandages, her fingers still throbbed where the dagger had bitten. The pain was her scourge, Catelyn felt, lest she forget. She could not bend the last two fingers on her left hand, and the others would never again be dexterous. Yet that was a small enough price to pay for Bran's life. Ser Rodrik chose that moment to appear on deck. "My good friend," said Moreo through his forked green beard. The Tyroshi loved bright colors, even in their facial hair. "It is so fine to see you looking better." "Yes," Ser Rodrik agreed. "I haven't wanted to die for almost two days now." He bowed to Catelyn. "My lady." He was looking better. A shade thinner than he had been when they set out from WhiteHarbor, but almost himself again. The strong winds in the Bite and the roughness of the narrow sea had not agreed with him, and he'd almost gone over the side when the storm seized them unexpectedly off Dragonstone, yet somehow he had clung to a rope until three of Moreo's men could rescue him and carry him safely below decks. "The captain was just telling me that our voyage is almost at an end," she said. Ser Rodrik managed a wry smile. "So soon?" He looked odd without his great white side whiskers; smaller somehow, less fierce, and ten years older. Yet back on the Bite it had seemed prudent to submit to a crewman's razor, after his whiskers had become hopelessly befouled for the third time while he leaned over the rail and retched into the swirling winds. "I will leave you to discuss your business," Captain Moreo said. He bowed and took his leave of them. The galley skimmed the water like a dragonfly, her oars rising and falling in perfect time. Ser Rodrik held the rail and looked out over the passing shore. "I have not been the most valiant of protectors." Catelyn touched his arm. "We are here, Ser Rodrik, and safely. That is all that truly matters." Her hand groped beneath her cloak, her fingers stiff and fumbling. The dagger was still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself. "Now we must reach the king's master-at-arms, and pray that he can be trusted." "Ser Aron Santagar is a vain man, but an honest one." Ser Rodrik's hand went to his face to stroke his whiskers and discovered once again that they were gone. He looked nonplussed. "He may know the blade, yes . . . but, my lady, the moment we go ashore we are at risk. And there are those at court who will know you on sight." Catelyn's mouth grew tight. "Littlefinger," she murmured. His face swam up before her; a boy's face, though he was a boy no longer. His father had died several years before, so he was Lord Baelish now, yet still they called him Littlefinger. Her brother Edmure had given him that name, long ago at Riverrun. His family's modest holdings were on the smallest of the Fingers, and Petyr had been slight and short for his age. Ser Rodrik cleared his throat. "Lord Baelish once, ah . . . " His thought trailed off uncertainly in search of the polite word. Catelyn was past delicacy. "He was my father's ward. We grew up together in Riverrun. I thought of him as a brother, but his feelings for me were . . . more than brotherly. When it was announced that I was to wed Brandon Stark, Petyr challenged for the right to my hand. It was madness. Brandon was twenty, Petyr scarcely fifteen. I had to beg Brandon to spare Petyr's life. He let him off with a scar. Afterward my father sent him away. I have not seen him since." She lifted her face to the spray, as if the brisk wind could blow the memories away. "He wrote to me at Riverrun after Brandon was killed, but I burned the letter unread. By then I knew that Ned would marry me in his brother's place." Ser Rodrik's fingers fumbled once again for nonexistent whiskers. "Littlefinger sits on the small council now." "I knew he would rise high," Catelyn said. "He was always clever, even as a boy, but it is one thing to be clever and another to be wise. I wonder what the years have done to him." High overhead, the far-eyes sang out from the rigging. Captain Moreo came scrambling across the deck, giving orders, and all around them the Storm Dancer burst into frenetic activity as King's Landing slid into view atop its three high hills. Three hundred years ago, Catelyn knew, those heights had been covered with forest, and only a handful of fisherfolk had lived on the north shore of the Blackwater Rush where that deep, swift river flowed into the sea. Then Aegon the Conqueror had sailed from Dragonstone. It was here that his army had put ashore, and there on the highest hill that he built his first crude redoubt of wood and earth. Now the city covered the shore as far as Catelyn could see; manses and arbors and granaries, brick storehouses and timbered inns and merchant's stalls, taverns and graveyards and brothels, all piled one on another. She could hear the clamor of the fish market even at this distance. Between the buildings were broad roads lined with trees, wandering crookback streets, and alleys so narrow that two men could not walk abreast. Visenya's hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers. Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century. The Street of the Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong. A hundred quays lined the waterfront, and the harbor was crowded with ships. Deepwater fishing boats and river runners came and went, ferrymen poled back and forth across the Blackwater Rush, trading galleys unloaded goods from Braavos and Pentos and Lys. Catelyn spied the queen's ornate barge, tied up beside a fat-bellied whaler from the Port of Ibben, its hull black with tar, while upriver a dozen lean golden warships rested in their cribs, sails furled and cruel iron rams lapping at the water. And above it all, frowning down from Aegon's high hill, was the Red Keep; seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded with archers' nests, all fashioned of pale red stone. Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it. Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed. Yet now the banners that flew from its battlements were golden, not black, and where the three-headed dragon had once breathed fire, now pranced the crowned stag of House Baratheon. A high-masted swan ship from the Summer Isles was beating out from port, its white sails huge with wind. The Storm Dancer moved past it, pulling steadily for shore. "My lady," Ser Rodrik said, "I have thought on how best to proceed while I lay abed. You must not enter the castle. I will go in your stead and bring Ser Aron to you in some safe place." She studied the old knight as the galley drew near to a pier. Moreo was shouting in the vulgar Valyrian of the Free Cities. "You would be as much at risk as I would." Ser Rodrik smiled. "I think not. I looked at my reflection in the water earlier and scarcely recognized myself. My mother was the last person to see me without whiskers, and she is forty years dead. I believe I am safe enough, my lady." Moreo bellowed a command. As one, sixty oars lifted from the river, then reversed and backed water. The galley slowed. Another shout. The oars slid back inside the hull. As they thumped against the dock, Tyroshi seamen leapt down to tie up. Moreo came bustling up, all smiles. "King's Landing, my lady, as you did command, and never has a ship made a swifter or surer passage. Will you be needing assistance to carry your things to the castle?" "We shall not be going to the castle. Perhaps you can suggest an inn, someplace clean and comfortable and not too far from the river." The Tyroshi fingered his forked green beard. "Just so. I know of several establishments that might suit your needs. Yet first, if I may be so bold, there is the matter of the second half of the payment we agreed upon. And of course the extra silver you were so kind as to promise. Sixty stags, I believe it was." "For the oarmen," Catelyn reminded him. "Oh, of a certainty," said Moreo. "Though perhaps I should hold it for them until we return to Tyrosh. For the sake of their wives and children. If you give them the silver here, my lady, they will dice it away or spend it all for a night's pleasure." "There are worse things to spend money on," Ser Rodrik put in. "Winter is coming." "A man must make his own choices," Catelyn said. "They earned the silver. How they spend it is no concern of mine." "As you say, my lady," Moreo replied, bowing and smiling. Just to be sure, Catelyn paid the oarmen herself, a stag to each man, and a copper to the two men who carried their chests halfway up Visenya's hill to the inn that Moreo had suggested. It was a rambling old place on Eel Alley. The woman who owned it was a sour crone with a wandering eye who looked them over suspiciously and bit the coin that Catelyn offered her to make sure it was real. Her rooms were large and airy, though, and Moreo swore that her fish stew was the most savory in all the Seven Kingdoms. Best of all, she had no interest in their names. "I think it best if you stay away from the common room," Ser Rodrik said, after they had settled in. "Even in a place like this, one never knows who may be watching." He wore ringmail, dagger, and longsword under a dark cloak with a hood he could pull up over his head. "I will be back before nightfall, with Ser Aron," he promised. "Rest now, my lady." Catelyn was tired. The voyage had been long and fatiguing, and she was no longer as young as she had been. Her windows opened on the alley and rooftops, with a view of the Blackwater beyond. She watched Ser Rodrik set off, striding briskly through the busy streets until he was lost in the crowds, then decided to take his advice. The bedding was stuffed with straw instead of feathers, but she had no trouble falling asleep. She woke to a pounding on her door. Catelyn sat up sharply. Outside the window, the rooftops of King's Landing were red in the light of the setting sun. She had slept longer than she intended. A fist hammered at her door again, and a voice called out, "Open, in the name of the king." "A moment," she called out. She wrapped herself in her cloak. The dagger was on the bedside table. She snatched it up before she unlatched the heavy wooden door. The men who pushed into the room wore the black ringmail and golden cloaks of the City Watch. Their leader smiled at the dagger in her hand and said, "No need for that, m'lady. We're to escort you to the castle." "By whose authority?" she said. He showed her a ribbon. Catelyn felt her breath catch in her throat. The seal was a mockingbird, in grey wax. "Petyr," she said. So soon. Something must have happened to Ser Rodrik. She looked at the head guardsman. "Do you know who I am?" "No, m'lady," he said. "M'lord Littlefinger said only to bring you to him, and see that you were not mistreated." Catelyn nodded. "You may wait outside while I dress." She bathed her hands in the basin and wrapped them in clean linen. Her fingers were thick and awkward as she struggled to lace up her bodice and knot a drab brown cloak about her neck. How could Littlefinger have known she was here? Ser Rodrik would never have told him. Old he might be, but he was stubborn, and loyal to a fault. Were they too late, had the Lannisters reached King's Landing before her? No, if that were true, Ned would be here too, and surely he would have come to her. How . . . ? Then she thought, Moreo. The Tyroshi knew who they were and where they were, damn him. She hoped he'd gotten a good price for the information. They had brought a horse for her. The lamps were being lit along the streets as they set out, and Catelyn felt the eyes of the city on her as she rode, surrounded by the guard in their golden cloaks. When they reached the Red Keep, the portcullis was down and the great gates sealed for the night, but the castle windows were alive with flickering lights. The guardsmen left their mounts outside the walls and escorted her through a narrow postern door, then up endless steps to a tower. He was alone in the room, seated at a heavy wooden table, an oil lamp beside him as he wrote. When they ushered her inside, he set down his pen and looked at her. "Cat," he said quietly. "Why have I been brought here in this fashion?" He rose and gestured brusquely to the guards. "Leave us." The men departed. "You were not mistreated, I trust," he said after they had gone. "I gave firm instructions." He noticed her bandages. "Your hands . . . " Catelyn ignored the implied question. "I am not accustomed to being summoned like a serving wench," she said icily. "As a boy, you still knew the meaning of courtesy." "I've angered you, my lady. That was never my intent." He looked contrite. The look brought back vivid memories for Catelyn. He had been a sly child, but after his mischiefs he always looked contrite; it was a gift he had. The years had not changed him much. Petyr had been a small boy, and he had grown into a small man, an inch or two shorter than Catelyn, slender and quick, with the sharp features she remembered and the same laughing grey-green eyes. He had a little pointed chin beard now, and threads of silver in his dark hair, though he was still shy of thirty. They went well with the silver mockingbird that fastened his cloak. Even as a child, he had always loved his silver. "How did you know I was in the city?" she asked him. "Lord Varys knows all," Petyr said with a sly smile. "He will be joining us shortly, but I wanted to see you alone first. It has been too long, Cat. How many years?" Catelyn ignored his familiarity. There were more important questions. "So it was the King's Spider who found me." Littlefinger winced. "You don't want to call him that. He's very sensitive. Comes of being an eunuch, I imagine. Nothing happens in this city without Varys knowing. Oftimes he knows about it before it happens. He has informants everywhere. His little birds, he calls them. One of his little birds heard about your visit. Thankfully, Varys came to me first." "Why you?" He shrugged. "Why not me? I am master of coin, the king's own councillor. Selmy and Lord Renly rode north to meet Robert, and Lord Stannis is gone to Dragonstone, leaving only Maester Pycelle and me. I was the obvious choice. I was ever a friend to your sister Lysa, Varys knows that." "Does Varys know about . . . " "Lord Varys knows everything . . . except why you are here." He lifted an eyebrow. "Why are you here?" "A wife is allowed to yearn for her husband, and if a mother needs her daughters close, who can tell her no?" Littlefinger laughed. "Oh, very good, my lady, but please don't expect me to believe that. I know you too well. What were the Tully words again?" Her throat was dry. "Family, Duty, Honor," she recited stiffly. He did know her too well. "Family, Duty, Honor," he echoed. "All of which required you to remain in Winterfell, where our Hand left you. No, my lady, something has happened. This sudden trip of yours bespeaks a certain urgency. I beg of you, let me help. Old sweet friends should never hesitate to rely upon each other." There was a soft knock on the door. "Enter," Littlefinger called out. The man who stepped through the door was plump, perfumed, powdered, and as hairless as an egg. He wore a vest of woven gold thread over a loose gown of purple silk, and on his feet were pointed slippers of soft velvet. "Lady Stark," he said, taking her hand in both of his, "to see you again after so many years is such a joy." His flesh was soft and moist, and his breath smelled of lilacs. "Oh, your poor hands. Have you burned yourself, sweet lady? The fingers are so delicate . . . Our good Maester Pycelle makes a marvelous salve, shall I send for a jar?" Catelyn slid her fingers from his grasp. "I thank you, my lord, but my own Maester Luwin has already seen to my hurts." Varys bobbed his head. "I was grievous sad to hear about your son. And him so young. The gods are cruel." "On that we agree, Lord Varys," she said. The title was but a courtesy due him as a council member; Varys was lord of nothing but the spiderweb, the master of none but his whisperers. The eunuch spread his soft hands. "On more than that, I hope, sweet lady. I have great esteem for your husband, our new Hand, and I know we do both love King Robert." "Yes," she was forced to say. "For a certainty." "Never has a king been so beloved as our Robert," quipped Littlefinger. He smiled slyly. "At least in Lord Varys's hearing." "Good lady," Varys said with great solicitude. "There are men in the Free Cities with wondrous healing powers. Say only the word, and I will send for one for your dear Bran." "Maester Luwin is doing all that can be done for Bran," she told him. She would not speak of Bran, not here, not with these men. She trusted Littlefinger only a little, and Varys not at all. She would not let them see her grief. "Lord Baelish tells me that I have you to thank for bringing me here." Varys giggled like a little girl. "Oh, yes. I suppose I am guilty. I hope you forgive me, kind lady." He eased himself down into a seat and put his hands together. "I wonder if we might trouble you to show us the dagger?" Catelyn Stark stared at the eunuch in stunned disbelief. He was a spider, she thought wildly, an enchanter or worse. He knew things no one could possibly know, unless . . . "What have you done to Ser Rodrik?" she demanded. Littlefinger was lost. "I feel rather like the knight who arrives at the battle without his lance. What dagger are we talking about? Who is Ser Rodrik?" "Ser Rodrik Cassel is master-at-arms at Winterfell," Varys informed him. "I assure you, Lady Stark, nothing at all has been done to the good knight. He did call here early this afternoon. He visited with Ser Aron Santagar in the armory, and they talked of a certain dagger. About sunset, they left the castle together and walked to that dreadful hovel where you were staying. They are still there, drinking in the common room, waiting for your return. Ser Rodrik was very distressed to find you gone." "How could you know all that?" "The whisperings of little birds," Varys said, smiling. "I know things, sweet lady. That is the nature of my service." He shrugged. "You do have the dagger with you, yes?" Catelyn pulled it out from beneath her cloak and threw it down on the table in front of him. "Here. Perhaps your little birds will whisper the name of the man it belongs to." Varys lifted the knife with exaggerated delicacy and ran a thumb along its edge. Blood welled, and he let out a squeal and dropped the dagger back on the table. "Careful," Catelyn told him, "it's sharp." "Nothing holds an edge like Valyrian steel," Littlefinger said as Varys sucked at his bleeding thumb and looked at Catelyn with sullen admonition. Littlefinger hefted the knife lightly in his hand, testing the grip. He flipped it in the air, caught it again with his other hand. "Such sweet balance. You want to find the owner, is that the reason for this visit? You have no need of Ser Aron for that, my lady. You should have come to me." "And if I had," she said, "what would you have told me?" "I would have told you that there was only one knife like this at King's Landing." He grasped the blade between thumb and forefinger, drew it back over his shoulder, and threw it across the room with a practiced flick of his wrist. It struck the door and buried itself deep in the oak, quivering. "It's mine." "Yours?" It made no sense. Petyr had not been at Winterfell. "Until the tourney on Prince Joffrey's name day," he said, crossing the room to wrench the dagger from the wood. "I backed Ser Jaime in the jousting, along with half the court." Petyr's sheepish grin made him look half a boy again. "When Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest." "Who?" Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with remembered pain. "The Imp," said Littlefinger as Lord Varys watched her face. "Tyrion Lannister."

[kansascityhappenings]

85 years later, a dark day in Kansas City remembered

Union Station | FBI Records

KANSAS CITY, Mo. — Today marks a dark day in Kansas City history. 85 years ago mobsters gunned down and killed four law enforcement officers and a criminal fugitive at Union Station railroad depot. It was the morning of June 17, 1933.

The killings of four peace officers and the prisoner has gone down in history as the “Kansas City Massacre.” The mass shooting led to a major FBI policy change: agents began carrying firearms.

Back then a new house cost around $5,750. A loaf of bread cost 7 cents. Construction of the San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge started in January. The prohibition era would officially end by December. Gangsters, including Al Capone, controlled speakeasies and bootlegging operations, making millions in underground operations. Physicist Albert Einstein renounced his German citizenship that year and moved to the United States to become a professor of theoretical physics at Princeton. The world was on the brink of major changes, with Adolf Hitler appointed as Chancellor of Germany in January and Franklin D. Roosevelt inaugurated as the president of the United States in March.

The Kansas City Massacre started with an attempt by a gang led by Vernon Miller to free Frank “Jelly” Nash, a federal prisoner with a crime history spanning decades. On that dark day, Nash was in custody and was being returned to the U.S. Penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas. Nash had escaped from prison three years earlier.

Frank “Nelly” Nash

Nash is thought to have participated in some 200 bank robberies. He was born on February 6, 1887 in Birdseye, Indiana.  His father, John “Pappy” Nash, started hotels in several southern towns – giving Nash multiple stomping grounds. Nash’s mother, Alta, was John’s second wife. Nash had two sisters and two stepbrothers.  After living in dozens of places across several states, Nash treated Hobart, Oklahoma as his hometown.

Frank Nash | FBI Records

Several mobsters considered Nash as a mastermind. He had connections with gangs across America. Past documents describe him as charismatic, friendly, likeable, and charming. His nickname, “Jelly” was shortened from “Jellybean.” He earned the name in childhood for his poise and well-groomed appearance. He was a career criminal who knew how to get what he wanted out of people, whether the law or fellow criminals.

Back in 1913, Nash and a friend, Nollie “Humpy” Wortman stole nearly $1,000 from a store in Sapulpa, Oklahoma. Adjusted for inflation, that would be over $18 million dollars today. While on the run, Nash told Wortman they needed to hide the evidence fast. As Wortman went to bury the wealth, Nash betrayed him and shot him in the back.

Police arrested Nash hours later. The court found him guilty of murder and sentenced him to life in the Oklahoma State Penitentiary. Five years later, Nash found a way to reduce his sentence to ten years. He convinced the warden he would join the army and fight in World War I. His life of crime didn’t stop there.

After years of going in and out of prison, he landed in the United States Penitentiary, Leavenworth in Kansas along with three members of the Spencer Gang. They received a 25 year sentence for mail robbery and assaulting a mail custodian. That was in March 1924. In 1930, Nash was appointed the deputy warden’s chef and general handyman; the jobs came with special privileges. He escaped on October 19, 1930, when he left the prison on an errand and never returned.

The FBI launched an aggressive search for Nash throughout the United States and most of Canada. The FBI discovered Nash — one the most wanted fugitives in U.S. history — assisted in the escape of seven prisoners from the United States Penitentiary, Leavenworth, on December 11, 1931.

FBI agents also found out that Nash had close friendships with Francis L. Keating, Thomas Holden, and several other gunmen involved in Midwest bank robberies. The more the FBI uncovered Nash’s underground connections, the more they wanted him in their custody.

FBI agents captured Keating and Holden on July 7, 1932 in Kansas City, Missouri. The pair told agents Nash was hiding out in Hot Springs, Arkansas, a hotbed of gangster activity. Illegal gambling spread like wildfire in Hot Springs following the Civil War, with two main factions: the Flynns and the Dorans. They fought one another throughout the 1880s for control of the central Arkansas town.

The Arkansas city was considered a national gambling mecca, led by Owney Madden and his Hotel Arkansas casino. From 1927-1947, gambling and debauchery reached a pinnacle: there were ten major casinos and numerous smaller house spinoffs. It was the largest operation of its kind in the United States at the time. Hotels advertised rooms for prostitutes and off-track booking for horse races. At the time it seemed like nothing could stop the operation; a former sheriff attempted to have the state’s anti-gambling laws enforced and to punish voter fraud — he was murdered in 1937.

Law enforcement apprehended Frank “Jelly” Nash at a Hot Springs store on June 16, 1933. FBI agents Joe Lackey and Frank Smith accompanied with Otto Reed, the Police Chief of McAlester, Oklahoma drove Nash north to Fort Smith, Arkansas. All four would board a train for Kansas City that night.

The Missouri Pacific train’s estimated time of arrival was 7:15a.m. the following day. The lawmen made arrangements to meet at Union Station with Reed E. Vetterli, the special agent in charge of the FBI’s Kansas City Office.

FBI Agent R. J. Caffrey | FBI Records

Reed E. Vetterli, Special Agent in Change | FBI Records

Outlaws Plan Scheme

Word spread fast of the capture, and outlaws were upset one of their most dangerous masterminds had been captured. Out of allegiance to him, Nash’s cronies figured out the time he would arrive in Kansas City. They planned to liberate him, but Nash would be killed in the massacre.

Vernon Miller was the scheme ringleader. He served in the U.S. Army during World War I and was an experienced machine gunner. When he returned from the war, he went to his hometown Huron, South Dakota where he was elected as a policeman in 1920. Two years later, he was elected sheriff and was re-nominated for the position. But he got bored of serving. He disappeared before the election – and quickly became baptized into a life of crime.

In 1931, Miller moved to St. Paul, Minnesota and Chicago where he proved himself as a gunner and began associating with gangs.

Before the night of the Kansas City Massacre, Miller used a phone at Mulloy’s Tavern, a historic mob location in KC, to plan out his scheme to free Nash.

FBI reports find Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd and his sidekick, Adam Richetti, arrived in Kansas City to aid in the mission. Their travels to the city were anything but smooth. The pair had been detained in Bolivar, Missouri on the morning of the 16th. They needed car repairs, and while waiting at a local garage, Sheriff Jack Killingsworth appeared. Richetti recognized the sheriff and mugged him, seizing a machine gun. Richetti and Floyd held up the sheriff and garage attendants at gunpoint. On the criminals’ orders, no one moved.

Floyd and Richetti then transferred their arsenal into another vehicle and ordered the sheriff to enter that vehicle, taking him as a hostage.

The two, along with their prisoner, drove north to Deepwater, Missouri. The cronies abandoned the stolen automobile and stole a new one. Deepwater is about 85 miles southeast of Kansas City.

After releasing the sheriff, Floyd and Richetti arrived in Kansas City about 10:00 p.m. on June 16.

That night Floyd and Richetti rolled their dice yet again and abandoned their automobile and stole another vehicle. Later they met Miller and went to his home… to be briefed on the mission and drink some beer.

Early the next morning, according to the FBI account, Miller, Floyd, and Richetti drove to Union Station in a Chevrolet Sedan. There they waited for Nash and his captors to arrive – and 30 pivotal seconds would go down in history.

Kansas City Massacre

Upon the arrival of the train in Kansas City, Agent Joseph Lackey went to the loading platform, leaving behind FBI Agent Frank Smith, Oklahoma Police Chief Otto Reed, and Frank “Jelly” Nash in a train stateroom.

On the platform, Lackey was met by Special Agent in Charge Reed Vetterli, FBI Agent Raymond J. Caffrey, and detectives W. J. Grooms and Frank Hermanson of the Kansas City Police Department. The lawmen surveyed Union Station and saw nothing suspicious.

SAC Vetterli told Agent Lackey that he and Agent Caffrey had brought two cars to Union Station for taking Nash back to the prison in Leavenworth.

Agent Lackey then returned to the train accompanied by Chief Reed, SAC Vetterli, Agents Caffrey and Smith, and Officers Hermanson and Grooms. They proceeded from the train through the Union Station lobby.

Both Agent Lackey and Chief Reed carried shotguns with them. Other officers carried pistols. SAC Vetterli is said to have been unarmed. Frank Nash, while in handcuffs, walked through Union Station with seven lawmen.

After leaving Union Station, the team with their captive paused briefly to survey the area a second time. Again, they saw nothing unusual.

Mass Shooting

Agent Caffrey unlocked his Chevrolet’s right door. When the door opened, Nash started to get into the back seat, but Agent Lackey told Nash to get into the front. The vehicle was a two-door sedan, and entering the back seat required pushing the back of the front seat forward.

Agent Lackey climbed into the back directly behind the driver’s seat. Agent Smith sat beside him in the center, and Chief Reed sat beside Smith… and behind Nash.

Agent Caffrey walked around the car to the driver’s seat on the left side. SAC Vetterli stood with Officers Hermanson and Grooms at the right side near the front of the car.

A green Plymouth was parked about six feet away. Agent Lackey saw two armed men run from behind it. At least one of them carried a machine gun.

From a distance approximately 15 feet diagonally to the right of Agent Caffrey’s Chevrolet, an individual crouched behind a car’s radiator and fired the machine gun.

Kansas City Police Officers Grooms and Hermanson died in the blast instantly. SAC Vetterli, who was standing beside Officers Grooms and Hermanson, was shot in the left arm. He dropped to the ground and attempted to scramble to the left side of the car to join Agent Caffrey — who had not entered the Chevrolet to seat in the driver’s seat.

When Vetterli turned a corner, he saw Agent Caffrey collapse. He died from a head wound.

Inside the car, the blast killed convict Frank Nash and Police Chief Reed. Agents Lackey and Smith survived the massacre by falling forward in the back seat. Lackey was struck and seriously wounded by three bullets. Smith survived the whole massacre without a scratch.

The three gunmen ran to the car they just targeted to look inside it; then they decided to flee the area. A Kansas City policeman emerged from Union Station and fired in the direction of one of the killers, later identified as Floyd, who slumped, but continued to run.

The killers entered a car and went westward out of the parking area and disappeared.

The three survivors, Agents Smith and Lackey and SAC Vetterli, reported that the attack lasted all of 30 seconds.

From their account, the two Kansas City police officers were killed immediately, followed seconds later by Frank Nash and Chief Reed and then by Agent Caffrey – he was transported to a hospital and was pronounced dead on arrival.

Timeline of the Aftermath

The mass shooting sent shockwaves throughout the public. Historians have said the attack highlights the lawlessness of Kansas City under the Pendergast Machine. Thomas Joseph Pendergast was an American political boss who controlled Kansas City and Jackson County, Missouri from 1925 to 1939. He used a large network of family and friends, along with voter fraud, to elect politicians. The Pendergast Machine helped launch the political career of former president Harry S. Truman.

FBI Records

Following the Kansas City Massacre, the FBI found fingerprint impressions on beer bottles in Miller’s Kansas City home. The evidence helped the FBI identify those involved.

Death of Vernon Miller

On November 29, 1933 the FBI found Miller’s mutilated body in a ditch just outside Detroit, Michigan. The FBI concluded Miller had a fight with henchman Longie Zwillman, the head of a New Jersey mob. While in Newark, Miller had shot the henchman. Another of Zwillman’s associates killed Miller in retaliation.

Several authors, including Jay Robert Nash, have used Miller’s death to argue that the Kansas City Massacre wasn’t about a potential rescue. It could have been a syndicate hit meant to silence Nash since he had extensive understanding of the crime underworld and a long list of contacts.

Arrest of Adam Richetti

After escaping out of Kansas City, Floyd and Richetti made their way to Toledo, Ohio. They met two women there by the names Beulah — also known as Juanita – and Rose Baird. The four traveled north to Buffalo, New York. With alias names, the four of them rented a Buffalo apartment. Those living in the apartment reported the two couples seldom left home and usually only left for grocery trips. Witnesses report the women occasionally threw money out the apartment windows and offered candy to children playing in the streets.

Adam Richetti | FBI Records

The four, in a new Ford Sedan bought by Rose Baird, began a trip on October 20, 1934 to travel west.

Later that same day, Floyd crashed the vehicle into a telephone pole in Toldeo, Ohio. Police Chief J. H. Fultz went out to investigate – and a shootout escalated. Chief Fultz took Richetti into custody. Floyd escaped.

Richetti was indicted by the Jackson County Grand Jury on four counts of murder. He was found guilty on June 17, 1935, exactly two years after the deadly incident. Richetti appealed the conviction. The State of Missouri Supreme Court affirmed it on May 3, 1938.

As a final act to save him, Richetti’s lawyers argued he was insane, but this effort failed.

He was executed by gas chamber on October 7, 1938.

Death of Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd

Following the car crash in Toledo, Ohio the FBI and local police conducted a wide array of interviews and had an intensive search for Floyd in eastern Ohio. They found him hiding out in a farm outside Clarkson, Ohio on October 22, 1934. Floyd died in a shootout with police. Records show he died 15 minutes after he was shot.

Charles Arthur Floyd, better known as Pretty Boy Floyd | FBI Records

Authorities found on Floyd a watch and fob, both with ten notches. Authorities in their report stated Floyd likely carved the notches as an indication of how many people he had killed.

The four individuals who aided in the conspiracy—Richard Galatas, Herbert Farmer, “Doc” Louis Stacci, and Frank Mulloy—were indicted by a federal grand jury at Kansas City, Missouri, on October 24, 1934.

On January 4, 1935, the four were found guilty of conspiracy to cause the escape of a federal prisoner from the custody of the United States. On the following day, each was sentenced to serve two years in a Federal Penitentiary and pay a fine of $10,000 — the maximum penalty allowed by law at that time.

The Kansas City Massacre changed a major FBI policy. Prior to this event the agency did not have authority to carry firearms (although some agents reportedly did) and make arrests (they could make a citizen’s arrest, then call a U.S. Marshal or local law officer). A year later Congress gave the FBI statutory authority to carry guns and make arrests (in May and June 1934).

  Sources:

FBI History

Raymond J. Caffrey

For more information:

‘Pretty Boy’ Falls (2009 story) FBI Case Records

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports http://fox4kc.com/2018/06/17/85-years-later-a-dark-day-in-kansas-city-history-remembered/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2018/06/17/85-years-later-a-dark-day-in-kansas-city-remembered/