#waterdeep irregulars

[mumms-the-word]

he is enough

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Just some poetic thoughts about a certain handsome wizard who sometimes views himself as not having value when he absolutely does. Pic of my Tav Dani because that’s all I got. ao3 link

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He is a man for whom grand gestures are as easy as breathing.

An evening in Waterdeep, conjured from the depths of a shadow curse. A night on the glimmering currents of the Outer Planes, your boat a small atom of light among an expanse of glowing stardust. He would create a castle out of amethysts for you, or find a way to pluck a single thread of the Weave to alter your fate if you asked.

All to prove his worth. His value. To show you his love and convince you that your love is not wasted on him.

And yet, you think, as you lay against him with his arms around you, his nose grazing the back of your shoulder, his breath ghosting across your skin, slow and even as he drifts off to sleep, you find in some ways that you prefer moments like this. When all the grand gestures fall away and you are left with these tiny little moments. These precious little touches.

Like freshwater pearls among glittering diamonds, you seek them out, irregular and imperfect, preferring their soft luster over the blinding glitter. You cradle them close to your heart, threading them together on a string, a poem of lines that are no more than broken moments, tiny gestures, little touches.

fingers grazing along your back  the kiss at the corner of your mouth his heartbeat under your palm calm, steady, quiet

You love to watch him when he isn’t looking, when he is wholly himself without the pressure to perform confidence for you. To study him the way he studies the pages of an arcane tome, seeking the secrets between lines.

his lines around his eyes between his brows the curve of his lips the length of his nose the sweep of his hair silver-threaded a hint of divinity among the mundane just like him 

Not that you’ve ever asked for his confidence or for a performance. You’ve only ever asked for a moment of his time. Posing questions just to hear him talk, watching as much as you listen.

his self-conscious smile halfway between arrogance and doubt arrogance of his knowledge doubt in your interest the way he looks off toward the horizon when his thoughts take him to planes you can scarcely comprehend  the way his eyes find their way back to you the instant he hears your voice or feels your touch you, like the Dog Star, guiding him home again

He worries at times, when he catches you watching him as he reads or studies or speaks, that he’s boring you. He thinks he needs to make grander gestures, that he just hasn’t found the thing that wows you yet. 

But while he ponders the wide expanse of the universe, wondering in which hidden corner he might find the one perfect thing to win your heart forever, you fill a universe of your own making with the sounds and sights and senses of him whom you love.

your littlest finger curled around his, a silent promise amid a busy day, a tiny link that chains the two of you together, the smallest constellation for the briefest moment his lips on your cheek, a teeny kiss made in passing as he moves by you, pulled momentarily by your gravity before roaming away, like a comet tugged temporarily into orbit

He would want you to focus on his abilities. His magic. The gestures he makes to cast his spells. The timbre of his voice as he shapes the incantations. The pull of the Weave as it bends to his will. You do notice. You do.

But there are other moments you find more precious. The tiniest things about him linger in your mind.

the steam that curls into the air

over the worn mug that holds his tea the one missing its handle the way his hand cradles the cup and turns it just so that his lips do not catch on the chip on the rim he's done this a hundred times before and yet you watch mesmerized

"When we get to Waterdeep, you'll want for nothing," he says, painting images of grandeur and splendor with an artist's brush, conjuring images of a dozen luxurious comforts. No more days spent aching from bedrolls on the ground. No more falling into exhausted sleep from a day of travel and battle. It's a lovely image, but so is he.

Just as he is.

You wish he'd see that. But his love for his goddess has taught him that he needs to constantly out-perform himself to retain your love and attention. That if he lets a day go by where he doesn't impress you, then he risks losing you forever. You wish he could glimpse, for just a moment, the way you see him.

a man mortal and aching but kind and sweet open-handed brimming with love just a man a good man whose heart and soul calls to your own just a man who doesn't need to do anything or be anyone more than who he already is because he is enough

You know it's hard for him to grasp the concept that he doesn't need to do anything to win your love. That he has it, wholly and freely given, no strings attached. It's the only theory you've ever known him to struggle with.

But when you take his hand and brush your lips against the backs of his knuckles; or you touch your forehead to his and sync your breaths in time with his; in the moments where I love you are the only words either of you have said for the last hour or more; you think you see the start of him realizing the truth you’ve already carved into the center of your heart.

He is already enough.

He will always be enough.

[tumbleweed-run]

Heart Beat

(18+, Explicit) kinktober 2023 Day 13 Heart Beat Bloodweave (background mentions of themxtav)

Gale’s heartbeat had been off-putting at first. Astarion had quickly been able to relegate everyone else’s heart sounds to background noise, except Gale’s. Gale’s heartbeat had been irregular to such a degree that even the constant irregularity hadn’t become regular. It sped up at the oddest times, skipped beats frequently, and when the wizard was at his least stable Astarion had actually become a little concerned he could hear the bomb’s slow detonation. Deep in the night while the others slept, Astarion could only hear the wizard’s.

In an act of self-preservation, Astarion worked hard to try and distance himself. 

Even after the tottering wizard had stabilized the orb, it simply wasn’t normal.

It had been jarring when he first arrived in Waterdeep, the absence of chaos in the wizard’s chest. The wizard’s heartbeat had returned to a normal human tone, often syncing annoyingly with Tav’s. And maybe Astarion had spent more than one early morning watching Gale sleep, listening to see if there was any remaining tick. That was for no one to know but him. 

Part of Astarion hated how attuned he’d become to Gale’s heartbeat, and through it now his moods. Months ago if he’d imagined which of their bizarre crew he might have allowed himself to be sweet on, well, he would have laughed at his own foolishness. Then he would have chosen Tav. 

He was half right. 

It was a strange comradery with Gale, one where they still spent the majority of their time arguing. But, admittedly, without the impending death from all sides, the wizard was… likable. Astarion had never been blind and had always acknowledged Gale’s attractiveness but he’d also done that with Wyll and Halsin and Shadowheart… As much as he’d wanted to strangle each and every one of them at times, at least no one could say they were an ugly group. Even the githyanki had her appeal.

He’d just never imagined Gale being someone he’d willingly kind of live with. 

This is why when he noticed Gale’s heart rate kicking in a way that normally he’d only associated with Tav he was a bit less than personable when he spat out, “She’s not here you know.”

Gale looked at him utterly confused, eyebrows drawn together. 

He didn’t know why the wizard was confused. Tav was… somewhere. Once she’d announced she was leaving for the day Astarion had lost interest. He couldn’t move about in the sun any longer so anything beyond these walls while the sun was out was lost to him. He’d never seen Waterdeep by day and that rubbed him the wrong way. It was best not to think about. 

“You’re thinking about her,” Astarion provided once it was apparent Gale was never going to understand on his own.

“I wasn’t, actually,” Gale asserted with a shake of his head. 

Astarion huffed, amused that the wizard was trying to lie to him. “Your heart rate jumps when you see or think of her,” he explained, “which it did just now.”

Gale’s head cocked to the side, he looked remarkably like Scratch waiting for someone to throw the ball. “My heart rate?”

“Yes, darling, your heart rate.”

“You can hear it?” Gale questioned, eyes going bright with interest. He leaned forward where he was sitting and his hands folded on his lap. Astarion immediately knew this look was one of academic interest. Mentally, he kicked himself as he realized he unwittingly trapped himself into one of Gale’s ‘curiosities.’ 

“I hear a lot of things, I’m a vampire remember?” he sounded more irritable than he really was, hoping to deter Gale’s line of questioning with a sour mood. 

Gale would not be deterred. “Well, yes but very few vampires have assisted in the books written on them. I had assumed enhanced hearing didn’t go that far. Do you hear other bodily sounds as well?”

“What a disgusting way to phrase that,” Astarion said, “and well, yes, I guess I can. But the heart is more important so it’s something I focus on.”

“Yes,” Gale mused his eyes darting toward his desk as if he were considering jumping up to record these details, “being related to the blood I imagine you would.”

Astarion realized he either needed to distract the wizard, leave, or resign himself to hours of torturous and invasive questions. He didn’t really want to leave, there wasn’t much in the rest of the tower but the questions were also something he wanted to avoid. So a distraction it was. 

“What were you thinking about Tav?” Astarion asked quickly as Gale opened his mouth to no doubt ask another series of questions. “I assume it was something filthy,” he drawled. 

Gale’s mouth shut. Astarion waited as a myriad of thoughts ran about the wizard’s face. “I wasn’t,” Gale settled on, his tone unusually neutral. 

Astarion smirked, wondering what dirty thoughts had been going through the other man’s brain, especially given how hard he was working to cover up that he’d actually had them. He turned and stalked towards Gale, pleased to have been finally given something to torture him about. 

Then he heard it. The kick of Gale’s heart once again.

Astarion froze as a realization washed over him. 

It hadn’t been about Tav. It had been about him. 

Oh, dear. 

The way Gale’s eyes widened, he knew that he’d been caught. Curious was putting too mildly a point to Astarion’s feelings. He desperately needed to know exactly what the wizard was thinking. 

“So,” he asked as he resumed stalking toward Gale, “if it wasn’t about Tav, what were you thinking?”

Gale clearly knew that Astarion had realized it had something to do with him, but he was sure the wizard would lie. Which is why it came as a surprise when Gale didn’t.

“That you look… nice,” Gale admitted. 

Astarion smirked finally coming to a stop in front of Gale. “Darling,” he purred, “you don’t sound like that over nice.” He couldn’t stop himself from reaching forward to thread his fingers through the wizard’s hair, leaning over him just slightly. 

A flush rose on Gale’s cheeks, and he cleared his throat but did not answer. 

“What,” Astarion gave a little tug to Gale’s hair and his lips dropped open appealingly, “were you thinking about?” 

Gale swallowed. “You know I find you attractive,” he was still evading the question.

Another tug, less gentle this time, forcing Gale’s head back so that his neck was arched enticingly. “Yes but what had your heart pumping like that? I don’t think all that blood was going to that giant brain of yours.” He glanced down and proved his point. Gale was hard against the front of his trousers. 

Gale’s eyes had gone glassy with Astarion’s manhandling which was certainly a revelation. 

“I want to suck your cock,” the words left Gale as if he hadn’t meant to say them. The look on his face confirmed that he hadn’t. 

Astarion froze once again. 

This was crossing a line that they hadn’t crossed before. Well, it was more like violently catapulting over it. Everything they’d done leading up to this moment had been in front of Tav. This would just be them alone. It removed all sense of security they’d wrapped themselves up in. 

Gale was quickly beginning to look worried, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Shut up,” Astarion growled. 

Gale did. 

Astarion glanced down at his hand and realized. Realized that he’d crossed the line several minutes ago, the exact moment he’d threaded his hand through Gale’s hair. The wizard of course would let him back out graciously, more than graciously if Astarion never mentioned that he’d actually announced he wanted to suck his cock. It was with trepidation that Astarion realized he didn’t want to back out. 

The silence was weighing heavily on Gale, his eyes had begun darting around nervously. No doubt he would have fled from the room if Astarion’s hand hadn’t been keeping him in place. 

“On your knees,” Astarion ordered after letting it go on just a bit longer. 

Gale moved surprisingly quickly to his knees for someone who often lamented how they hurt. Despite this, once he was there, Gale just waited eyes locked onto the bulge in Astarion’s pants. 

“Fuck,” Astarion hissed when he realized what the wizard was waiting for. 

This wasn’t just Gale being overly cautious about Astarion’s sometimes panic attacks from certain situations. This was waiting for an order. This was submission. 

In the rare moment he’d considered fucking Gale alone he’d assumed they’d both fight for dominance. He’d been almost certain of it after he’d seen how the wizard was with Tav in bed. He’d thought that at best they’d reach and understanding, at worst he’d have to be the one to submit. 

Suddenly, the urge to wreck Gale’s composure was all-consuming.

“Take out my cock if you want it so badly,” Astarion growled through clenched teeth. 

Gale's hands were quick to follow that order, Astarion didn’t miss the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips. Once again, as soon as he’d completed his task, he waited. 

This was intoxicating. 

Gripping his cock with his free hand, Astarion brought it to Gale’s mouth. Teasingly, he brushed the tip across his lips yanking, Gale apparently couldn’t resist darting his tongue out for it. Astarion yanked harshly on the hand still embedded in the wizard’s hair, jerking his head back again. The noise that spilled from Gale was more a moan than anything, and his heart rate enticingly sped up with arousal. 

“Open,” Astarion ordered, tapping his cock off the wizard’s lips once he regained his balance. 

Gale’s mouth fell open, but he did nothing else. 

Astarion took the time to engrain this image in his brain, unsure if he’d be treated to this ever again. “Suck,” he said after some time. 

Gale drew Astarion’s cock into his mouth, only deterred when his lips met the vampire’s hand. He let go, arm falling loosely at his side. Surprisingly the wizard managed to swallow most of him down before retreating. 

At first, it was just as Astarion had expected: eager but skillless. Then Gale grew bolder, licking and sucking with a skill that Astarion recognized as not simply an inborn skill. Sure, the wizard spent a lot of time with his head buried between Tav’s thighs, but men were different. Cocks were different, and apparently, his wasn’t the first in the wizard’s mouth. 

He desperately needed to know, having always assumed the wizard as some kind of sexually repressed prude in his youth. Too wrapped up in magic, in Mystra, to have given his body to others. 

“And how many cocks have been down your throat?” Astarion asked, fingers tightening in Gale’s hair. 

Gale glared up at him. Astarion found he welcomed that defiant spark, the one that fueled almost all of their conversations. But instead of arguing Gale did something devastating with the tip of his tongue against Astarion’s slit. 

“Fuck,” Astarion hissed. He yanked on Gale’s hair, pulling him further onto his cock. He hadn’t meant to and was about to actually apologize when he felt the wizard swallow in an effort to relax his throat. Astarion’s eyes went wide, but instead of taking the invitation, he yanked Gale off of him. 

“I might like it rough, but I do try not to cause lasting harm,” he warned. 

“You wont,” Gale promised sounding very sure of himself. 

Astarion studied the wizard’s face for any sign of reservation. He didn’t find any.

“I am going to find every man who’s fucked your throat and write him a thank you note,” Astarion promised. 

Gale’s smile was wicked. “You’ll be writing a long time.” Then he greedily pulled Astarion’s cock back into his mouth before the vampire could even think to demand that he explain. 

Gale swallowed him down, working his jaw and throat until his nose bumped against Astarion. Astarion let him do this a few times before tightening his grasp on Gale’s hair, a warning. 

In response Gale very deliberately wrapped his hand around Astarion’s calf, digging two of his fingers into the muscle. Astarion realized this as the same motion he’d demonstrated to Tav not very long ago. 

There was no perception in which Astarion was considered green or inexperienced, yet Gale was leaving him upended. All this new knowledge was seriously affecting the image of the wizard he had created. It was leaving him dizzy and far more aroused than it should have. 

Astarion thrust into Gale’s mouth with no further warning, only stopping when he felt the ridges of the other man’s throat. Gale groaned, his other hand moving to hold onto Astarion’s leg for support. There was a soft scrape of teeth when he pulled back, and while Astarion could have ordered him to open wider or even jabbed his thumb into the wizard’s jaw, he relished in the feeling instead. Fucking into his pliant mouth again and again. 

Astarion wanted to come like this, to spill down the wizard’s throat. He intended to, but while he was an asshole, he wasn’t cruel.

“I’m not returning the favor,” Astarion warned, “touch yourself.”

He lightened up on his thrusts, doing so shallowly allowing the wizard’s tongue to massage him instead. Gale took this reprieve to pull his cock out and begin fisting it. Seeing it, Astarion almost regretted his proclamation, at some point he did intend to torture the wizard. 

“Suck,” Astarion ordered, hand falling to the back of Gale’s head. 

Gale did as he was told, sucking even as he had begun fucking into his own hand. He was moaning, the vibrations doing horribly wonderful things to Astarion. His eyes slid shut against his will. 

His head was filled with the slick sound of Gale’s hand on his own cocked, the wet moans around his, and the pounding of the wizard’s heart. It’s what betrayed Gale’s orgasm to Astarion. He opened his eyes to watch as the wizard spilled over his own clothing and hand. 

Astarion pulled Gale’s head against him as the man went pliant. His jaw relaxed totally, allowing the vampire to fuck his throat once more. Astarion didn’t last much longer, the knowledge of whose throat he was fucking pushing him over the edge faster than just the sensation. 

“Shit,” he cursed as he began spilling down Gale’s throat. He gagged now, pulling himself back enough so that Astarion finished in his mouth. Once he’d finished, Gale pulled himself back and held eye contact with Astarion as he very deliberately swallowed. 

They remained like that for some time until the wizard groaned and pushed himself up onto the sofa. 

“Perhaps some warning next time,” Gale complained. 

Astarion didn’t even bother responding, too focused on the words ‘next time.’

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Things heat up in Astarion's tent after Tav offers to let him drink her blood.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 6: Ribbon*

Ao3

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Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Smut, CPTSD, Vaginal Fingering, Breast Play, Act 1 Spoilers

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For she is slowly being pulled by strands of the spinneret. A spider that sews his web with such intricacies, they are mistaken for complex pieces of his soul. The predator lures a victim into silken promises,

And when finally ensnared, there will be no mercy for the fangs that drain them alive.

— Gale of Waterdeep, poetry from 'The Wilderness'

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“I agreed to let him continue journeying with us—at your convincing behest—after we found out he was a vampire and we learned he had already bitten you. I will not retract my decision on the matter, but you cannot expect me to fall back and watch as he takes advantage of our—your—good tidings. Tav, you are one step away from being spun into his web, if you’re not there already!” Gale argued loudly.

Astarion sat on the edge of his ratty stool outside his tent, polishing his daggers. He would, at times, tilt the point of his ear in the direction of the bitter heart-to-heart between the wizard and their humble bard, attempting to decipher each sentence his victim held firm to in her rebuttal. But, her pitch was that usual quiet sultry measure, like honey dripping onto berries, she carried and he couldn’t hear a damned word from her mouth.

Mouth. Her mouth. Their lips.

Ah, yes, he had tasted her the previous evening. Inside Tav’s tent, testing the pliancy of their lips against each other, she yielded to him. He had swiped his tongue across her bottom lip after a few preludes of longer, more downy, kisses until she mewled for him.

So delicately did her pecks tap, using her lips as a confessional upon each pore of his pallored shade. At one point, when she had felt bolder, she licked his upper lip with the tip of her moistened tongue. Astarion rewarded her with a groan, coercing her to glue herself to his chest with her own while he guided her hands to hold onto his broad shoulders.

And her eyes: those very wide orbs of storms. They searched. They searched. They searched. A risky assessment of his features as an oracle knocking on the undeath pane of his soul. He couldn’t stand it. Not a single one of his pillaged targets had ever sought him out in this manner, too enthralled with their own lusts. The meddlesome witch with the tempting gaze made his throat twist with sour spittle.

Lo, with a crown of stars fastened in her hair, she’s the queen of swords. To pierce the hearts of men and drain them of their festering cancers. Her eyes: the ocean. You’ll drown, you’ll drown, you’ll drown.

Oh, but the tides shortly fell from Tav's court right back into the shadows of his hands. Because her lips were swollen for him, so luscious towards the end of their interlude, that he pricked the spike of his fang into the dewy tissue in her lower vermillion. The tiniest blood beads formed and he nursed upon them with sensitive suckles.

Astarion could hear the irregularity in her flitting heart, like the melody of a black-capped chickadee, and his soul mate mark began to pulse in tandem with her frolics. She quivered in his arms over and over again, with gasps and goose flesh along her arms, until their kisses slowed and he wished her a fair rest of the night.

This was the exact leverage he needed and the bard so readily provided it to him. The song she sang by the river—the longing in her voice—for a connection she so desperately wanted to believe was still alive in the world, was for him. And by the immoral scriptures hidden from saintly eyes, he would perform to her. He would take up the mantle, murmuring corruption in between her thighs until she was screaming his name. He would play the part of her lover and she would gladly be his defender.

Because she was touch-starved. Because she wanted tenderness. Because she would protect him from his former master.

With this, he would have some form of sanctuary. And if all of the stars aligned, Tav and the rest of their questionable gang, would help him pursue true freedom from Cazador clutches.

But, her wavering request of ”please, don’t hurt me” kept reappearing in his thoughts, as if it had been drawn in the fog of a tarry marsh.

“You’re protecting him?! For Mystra’s sake, why?!” Gale’s continued goading grounded Astarion back to reality.

What? He could only hear the soft whispers of Tav’s voice, but judging by how Gale looked over her shoulder with a heavily creased brow in the vampire’s direction, her answer was unanticipated.

As Tav stalked off, boots creating clouds of dust leading out of the camp, Astarion stared at the back of her form long after she left, with the opinion that his tadpole must have consumed more of his brain matter than he originally thought.

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The pangs of hunger were unbearable.

Daggers in hands—freshly sharpened—Astarion stationed himself on the side of the dilapidated house, the overcast shadows from one of its walls providing the perfect hiding spot. Shadowheart crouched behind him, preparing a warding spell, trying to ghost the incantation with bitty utterings.

“Shh. I’m trying to concentrate,” he chastised under his breath.

In front of the building, he eyed Tav like a hawk as she sang to the oversized lard of an ogre. Her flexible fingers strumming the lute, she had been trying to distract the monster with an on-the-spot folk song called: It’s Never Ogre. The vampire mocked her for the painfully moronic pun, while not registering the slight upturned cordiality near the corner of his mouth.

Before they decided to confront the last beast of the Blighted Village, Tav told them her plan with her typical bashful confidence. She’d play her notes with a garish tale of gluttonous delights, then, when she gave the signal, Astarion would sneak up behind the ogre with a devastating attack into his spinal cord—rendering it immobile. It was an attack the spawn had conducted enough times to the point of it becoming second nature.

His stomach churned again causing him to keel over at his waist in pain, one of his weapons almost slipping out from his cold grip. Why the hells did he continue to condemn himself to this fate?! He was free damnit!

“Astarion, when was the last time you fed? I can hear your guts and dare I say you look deader than usual,” Shadowheart dismally questioned. She peeked around his shoulder, glimpsing at the concert their leader was desperately trying to continue with a phony smile plastered on her expression. “Just don’t get any ideas about my neck, fanger.”

He baited the Sharran cleric with an impudent fleer. “You’re assuming I’d even think about sinking my teeth into that darkness thickening your blood. You’ve forgotten: I was already there for two centuries.”

“Hush or we’ll miss the gesture.”

Astarion shuddered exhaustively with each turn of his joints. He felt weak. Too weak for combat. During the last couple of evenings, he prowled the night, creeping upon deer and boars in the area. But, as he got close to his potential hunts, he would taste the chilled blood of decomposing rats and bugs on his palate.

”Would you like an appetizer with dinner tonight? How about a plate of roaches? Eat up, my beloved spawn.”

He recoiled—like the obedient slave he was for his master—instead, seeking out the familiarity of smaller woodland creatures in the vein of squirrels and rodents until they became too weary to descend their hiding places, knowing a strange predator was on the loose.

Had tasting the bard's ichor made Astarion too greedy? No. More so, that he was undeserving of the warmth that flowed throughout his body as he drank from a thinking creature. It was like being wrapped in a blanket on a crisp winter’s eve from the inside out and the only comfort of his sanguine life he was entitled to, were the corroded bits Cazador approved.

Submit to him. Draped in master’s arms while he feeds dribbles of red decay on your lips. His unholy communion. Body and blood of Cazador. Amen.

“Astarion! ASTARION! NOW! SHIT!!” Shadowheart cried out, shaking him violently.

The shrill of Tav’s screams echoed throughout the rest of the vacant village as the ogre tightened its ginormous hand around her torso.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Astarion panicked aloud as he regained his senses.

He ran forward with no time to sneakily assassinate the giant. Lunging on its back, the vamp grabbed onto rolls of fatty tissue to climb upwards. With the point of his blade raised, he carved through the air and stabbed it in the middle of its back, slicing through vertebrae. The ogre, thrown off balance, stumbled to the ground.

Astarion pulled out the dagger and lunged it a final time into the back of its head, a smell of foul blackness spewing from the wound, killing it immediately. Tav scrambled away from the slumped fiend’s body, coughing, gasping for breath.

Shadowheart ran to her side with a healing potion. “Hold still—let me at least check you for injuries.”

“I guess he hated the song after all,” Tav joked. “I think I’m fine. Maybe a few bruises. Are the two of you okay?”

Astarion trotted over to them, flicking inky blood and greasy fat off his blades before sheathing them onto his back. “Nasty creatures those. I'm all for murdering our enemies, but maybe we could avoid the ones failing to practice good hygiene in the future.”

Tav smiled up at him with a breath of relief. “I’ll be sure to ask them ahead of time to bathe before we decide to play slaughter roulette.”

"Lady of Loss guide me." The cleric stood quickly, pointing her finger inches from his chest with circles of scorn spiraling in her eyes. “Astarion, you were in a total state of haze! She almost died out there!”

Shadowheart wasn’t incorrect by placing her ill contempt on him. It was his fault. Being around the others with his newfound freedom had been nothing short of exhilarating thus far, but it proved to come with complications—including these episodes he couldn’t seem to gain control over.

He scrunched his face dramatically. “I—well, it’s in its grave now, isn’t it? And here our bard stands: alive and breathing with that golden voice still intact.”

“Ugh. I’m not going to argue with you if you’re going to gloss over what just happened. Just know, that if you don’t feed soon, you’re about as good of use to us as a corpse is—pun intended." Shadowheart trudged over mounds of rubble, leading towards more ruinous homes. "By the way, Tav," she announced over her shoulder before leaving her two companions alone to collect themselves, "I trust you'll keep his bites in line."

Astarion reached down, offering his arm out for Tav to grab onto. She wrapped her hand near the crook of his inner elbow and he easily pulled her body weight up in one heave, still keeping her in close proximity to him.

“You’re truly alright? I would offer to kill the piece of shit that harmed you, but it seems I’ve already done my good deed for the week,” Astarion sarcastically grinned.

“Must’ve been the line I inserted about a dwarf mocking their loincloths that riled him up,” she giggled.

“Serves you right then for singing such awful lyrics.”

She playfully punched his bicep. “But, aside from that, you could have told me last night that you needed blood.”

His eyebrows rose. There was a languid swallow to bite back another spasm rumbling from within. And one more to cower behind the rascal he summoned forth. “I seem to remember our focus being on other delights.”

Tav’s ears flushed. She folded her arms against her bust in what appeared to be mild indignation. “Astarion, I’m being serious. Please consider the danger you could be putting us or yourself in next time if your hunger is present to this extent. I would almost consider being heartbroken if you were harmed.”

Astarion was grateful she didn’t inquire further about his mishaps. He didn't want to confront the diseased irreverent reflections, let alone pretending someone cared about him enough to confide in them about the personal affairs of his unbeating heart.

He moved his hand to lightly touch Tav's cheek with the back of his fingers, offering her a pulpy grin. “Almost consider? I think you may have given away who your favorite companion might be! I’m just glad you didn’t wind up a mangled piece of meat, you daring minx. I don’t want you to go anywhere—just yet.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Tav couldn’t stop touching her lips.

They felt raw, full of blood rushing from the memento of forbidden kisses shared, now the haunting sensation of a ripened plum being pushed against her.

The heat pooled between her thighs as she imagined how Astarion’s tongue might taste in her mouth. Several times she invited him to break through her barrier by licking smooth circles on his lips, but he would only pull back to settle germane brushes of his maw in the delicate reaches of her neck and cheeks. He intentionally held back.

Astarion was a complicated person, easily slipping his debonair mask back on when he needed it most. Living as a slave must have nearly stripped his entire identity away. But, those unbreakable shards that embedded themselves in the lemure silhouettes of his tarnished soul, were the ones Tav wished to know. Because now he walked a path of barbed shells and rubbery bones and she was hesitant to cross his boundaries—leaving her questions at rest, patiently waiting for what he wanted.

As she approached his tent, reciting to herself that she was only offering her blood to him as a means to an end for his hunger, she could see Astarion reclining on the rug in front, witnessing the disappearing sun giving way to night’s oil slick puddles stretching across the canvassed sky. Her breath caught in her throat, much like when she observed him in the sun. With a pillow tucked under his elbows, he resembled a handsome tunic wearing emperor lounging in deep thought over his conversations with the planets.

“Good evening, my almost favorite rogue. Am I interrupting?” Tav sing-songed, batting her lashes demurely.

Did I just flirt with him? Gods! she thought.

Astarion flashed a teasing smirk. “And a pleasant evening to you, my almost favorite songbird. It’s quite a sight isn’t it? The night sky. I could take or leave that fashion sense of yours.”

Tav snorted. She looked down at her camp clothes, a blue ankle length skirt and light beige chemise she traded with pilfered scrolls. “My fashion? Well, I could take or leave your hunger for blood, but here we are!”

He lifted the side of his mouth to show off his canine to her. “Speaking of which,” he stood, rearranging his camp clothes, casting a coy impression. “...you were my first.”

Her eyes became wide as moons. “Beg pardon?”

“Not that! I’ve feasted putrid animals for two centuries, but you—you were the first thinking creature I’ve drank from. I can’t stop thinking about how delectable you tasted. Which brought me to ponder how the others might taste.”

“You’ve been looking at other necks? I actually think I’m a bit sad, Astarion.” Tav delicately placed a hand on her chest in feigned hurt.

“Now, now, I’m a man of tremendous appetites! Take Shadowheart for instance, she has Calishite Absinthe written all over her, but what do you think about our local Blade of Frontiers?”

She scratched her cheek. ”Wyll? How about a simple sweet cider? Since, he’s such a man of the people.”

“Oh, that sounds very refreshing!” he chortled like a schoolboy.

“Though, you have stroked my curiosity. What did I taste like?” she asked innocently.

Astarion moved in closer to her, catching a strand of her dark ashen locks to play with in between his fingers. “Hmm. I think I may need a fresh sip of your blood to accurately describe the details to you.”

Biting her lower lip kittenishly, she peered into his garnet jeweled eyes with confidence upon her lungs and a drumming behind her rib cage. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Don’t you still need blood? Take mine.”

He lowered his hand to touch her previously bitten wrist, prudently feeling the healed wounds. “I—yes, I do. But, to make sure you invite me back to dine with you in the future, drops from a wrist isn’t going to suffice this time, my sweet.”

“Then, my neck. Would that be enough?” she posed assertively.

She noticed him modifying his stance to subtly adjust a certain part of himself in his pants. “Ahem, yes. It would or at least fill me enough so I can hunt. We can—my tent?”

Tav nodded, giving his arm a flimsy squeeze.

Instead of waiting for him to invite her inside his tent with whatever welcome mat of words he could conjure, she took it upon herself to enter. She noted a few plain rotted velveteen pillows in different shapes he had thrown into a pile and a small candelabra lit off to the side with his recent reading material. Jars of congealed blood and soiled rags were strewn about without a care. His bedding was made of a single flat board, covered with a torn blanket and scattered hay. All of this hidden away behind the linens of his red tent. Tav blinked away the burning sensation in her eyes, imagining that he must be so used to living in meager conditions, that he may almost feel uncomfortable to live in any other way.

But then, something caught her eye: a nondescript espresso colored keepsake box that sat under a neatly placed sewing kit.

She couldn’t help but smile warmly wondering what type of trinkets he bundled into the container. Was Astarion a sentimental man? Maybe he was a collector and kept defective coins inside? She swelled with elated tenderness at the remarkable novelty of it.

In the den of blood and evocation of chased pleasures of a thousand faces, a holy box of unknown covenants to a man stood untethered. To keep out the crusades of devils and evil tyrants, how far would the soul be sold?

“Looking for something?” the vampire blocked the entrance to his tent. Tav couldn’t read him, but she did notice his shift in vision fall in line with the box before turning back to her.

“N-no. Only admiring your decor. And here I was thinking you couldn’t possibly have more pillows to add to your repertoire," she commented, ignoring the poor state of his living space.

He closed the flap behind him, moving to sink on top of the plush pile. They both tossed their boots over towards a separate corner. “I’m a maximalist when it comes to the luxuriant, including whose blood I choose to drink within my tent.”

The pale spawn’s posture straightened as he patted the space between his open legs with a come-hither tone. “Forgive my eagerness, but shall we?”

The bard’s heart started to flutter thinking about the vicinity they were about to be in with each other, even if it was only to help out a friend. 

Friend. Is that what they were?

“How should I sit?”

Astarion beckoned her to come closer with a repetitive motion of his index finger and a seductive grin. Tav crawled over towards him. He drew a circle in the air with the same finger, gesturing for her to turn around. There was a nervous excitement dancing along the fine hairs of her skin when she obediently turned all the way around and sat on the ground in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, silently scooting her against him, the rustling of her skirt dragging with her. She melted as soon as her back clamped against the coolness of his chest. Unsure of how to position her legs, she bent them upwards, letting the flats of her feet rest on one of the ornate cushions.

Tav could feel him gather the fountain of her wavy hair from her back, placing it over one of his shoulders to give him full allowance to nip at her neck. A waft of her lavender and vanilla scent burst out into a cloud from her wispy strands. Astarion inhaled deeply, gliding his hands from her waist up to sit on either side of her shoulders. She shivered when he leaned in to nuzzle his lips against the balm of her jugular vein.

“You know, I have a rather invasive curiosity you may be able to sate. A minor detail from your morning.”

The songstress tilted her head slightly away from him with inquisition on her mind. “And what would that be,” she breathed out.

“Gale of Waterdeep. What was it that you said that caused such outrage from him? Your conversation seemed rather—heated.” The vampire’s voice was a needling whisper against her skin as he pecked the area he currently favored.

Tav puffed out a heady sigh. His fingers modestly skittered down her pale arms as if they were tendrils of vines seeking the charity of the sun. “Why would you like to know? Are you jealous of him, Astarion?”

He smirked, the upturned edges of his mouth tickling her neck. “Why ever would I be jealous? It is not him that’s leaving marks upon your body, Tavelle.”

He mildly bit down on her, unaccompanied by the piercing of his fangs. She cried out when he sucked leisurely on the spot, worrying the velvet of her tender neck in his mouth. Tav murmured a prayer in his name as he spread the thinnest layer of his spit around the sensitive spot. The sound of her name on his beautiful lips caused the fluid of her arousal to settle in between the inner folds of her cunt.

Tav felt so ashamed with her thoughts, succumbing to this man so wantonly that she had only met recently. Of the betrayal of wetness and the desperation to know what came next. If he requested her to suck on prayer beads being fed to her one by one by his long fingers to exhibit how lewd of a woman she had become, she would submit.

He removed his gaping mouth away from her long enough to speak. “You’re trembling again, much like the first time I had you in my mouth. Did you come here for a reward—for all you’ve done for me?”

Tav turned her head towards him as far as she was able, trying not to writhe in his arms. “No. I did those things because I wanted to help you.”

Astarion tilted his head in towards the lobe of her ear, his breath a luring sweet chill of undeath. “Then, what exactly did you come here for? Surely, the reason wasn’t to only let me drink from you.”

Her head spun with lust for the want of him. Not only to quell the fervor her body organically felt for him, but also the unbridled tenebrae of his forgotten beating heart that she kept dipping her toes into. Wading in his twilight.

And she wanted more.

“I came here for a distraction,” she panted, referencing back to a previous conversation they exchanged. Uncertainty bit at her worried lips about him, what he may be thinking or feeling. “But, if you don’t want—"

“Shhh. Let me take care of you, darling.” He traced cool brushes across the protruding bone of her clavicle from one side to the other. Then, Astarion’s voice was a lyrical cadence caressing her ear, “Let me speak to you of wandering.”

Gilded fingers swooped down her ribs, feeling each ridge until they momentarily grabbed onto her hip. With the vacancy of his other hand, he guided his knuckles to the side of her swollen breast, caressing its rounded shape. Tav felt the walls of her slit clench onto nothing. Her heartbeat sped up in anticipation like that of a small animal.

Closer and closer he drew to the front of her bosom, pulling out gasp after gasp from her until she felt faint. Tav seized his hand, rotating it so his digits could feel her perked teat through her clothes. She implored him to rub it with a “please.”

"So very impatient," he teasingly chuckled behind her. “So very impatient. Though, I have a confession: the first time I bit you, I could see your breasts peeking through your shirt and I wanted to outline the letters of my name on your nipples."

He pulled down her chemise, letting her bountiful chest spill free. A pale index finger circled around the spun sugary pink of an areola, eliciting a carefree vibrato from the bard. He tested her sensitivity by giving her nipple a soft pinch. Tav squirmed as he held her, holding onto the wrist delivering his ministrations for dear life.

Astarion kissed the back of her shoulder, his gratifying hum, a low roll on her skin. “Mm. You react so exquisitely to my touch. Should I start with the letter ‘A’?”

Gods, Tav wanted to scream! She would remove the crown of regal flowers from her head, to smear his want in each crevice of her mouth. He could order her onto her knees, pushing the tip of his cock past her sumptuous lips with promises to anoint her with his cum, allowing him to claim her for his own.

“Answer me,” he said roughly, squeezing her whole breast in his hand.

“Please trace your name on me,” she whimpered with an embarrassed huff.

The scrape of the vamp’s fangs were at her neck and she imagined what it would feel like for his sanguine fascination to nip at her tits. The stitch of his razored cuspids mixed with bloody desire. Tav hadn’t confided in him about how aroused biting in general made her or the fact that she had sunk her fingers several times over into her wet hole, remembering how the initial pain of him biting her wrist felt.

“A. S. T. A. R. I. O. N." He rubbed the tip of her pertness with his thumb in strokes and swooshes, spelling out his name possessively on her flesh. "Look at you being such a good girl for me. Let me see where else I can wander.”

Astarion startled her when he shifted and the grip on her hip went slack. His hand appeared near her foot where the hem of her skirts dangled. He toyed with material of her silken stockings, dangerously lifting up her skirts enough to sift his fingers up and down her clothed shin. The icy touch halted near her inner ankle before he tantalizingly dragged the fabrics upwards, where his limber fingers left a trail of glacial tingles along her leg.

Her eyes clenched shut when the compass of his touch made it to her knee. “Astarion, keep going. Don’t stop,” Tav rasped.

Further up his descent he drifted, reaching the halfway point of her inner thigh. He forced the rest of her skirts up to rest by her hips in one swift motion.

“And what do we have here?” Astarion skimmed his touch along the ribbon tied around her thigh, holding up the hidden lace trimmed silk of her hosiery. “Such forbidden raptures concealed from the world. Did you wear these in hopes I would see them?”

Tav gulped. She answered him with a suggestive moan. Her body tensed as he stroked his fingers between the stocking and the creaminess of her skin. The folds of her slit were bathed in fluids; her smalls were soaked from her neediness.

There was a sharp intake of his breath, a certain gluttonous deprivation she could detect. He urgently pressed her ass back into his pelvis and she could feel everything. The salivating length of his cock—the perfect girth of it—but most of all, how devastatingly hard he could get.

Sensually, he gnawed at her ear lobe. “Gods. Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”

Aloud, she whined for him, twitching in his arms. He continued to pinch and pull at her nipple with one hand, while the other tumbled closer, closer, closer to her heaven. He slithered his fingers to frisk the hem of her smalls, drafting the threads delicately stitched along the outer edges.

Astarion kneaded his hand into the space between her thigh and her dripping filth, encouraging her legs to widen. “Reach down and spread yourself for me.”

The smoldering flush overtaking her body was nearly unbearable. But, he was commanding her with a carnally low voice and she wanted, no, needed to surrender to him. And so, she reached down betwixt her pale thighs to push her smalls to the side, timidly spreading the outer lips of her labia.

Clit throbbing to the exposed air, Astarion wasted no time in drawing foreign symbols around it. He circled her nub with his index finger, spreading her gathered slick as if he were savoring the sweetest of desserts before allowing himself to swallow it down.

“Oh my gods…” Tav managed to stutter out while his fingers slowly pulled her to nirvana with his golden chilled scald.

For the last several nights, she had thought about his hands on her, guiding her to a blinding light of pleasure. She had never been embraced in such a hedonistic, yet tenderly amatory way, in her lifetime. He was practiced in his persuasive dynamics, but he treated her like she was the only woman alive that could bring rhapsody to his aching frenzy. That she was his to keep and place inside that little curio box he kept tucked away for his own bliss.

Two of his fingers dipped down into her gaping hole and a lilt of an impassioned wail came undone from her throat. She had tears in her eyes from all the sensations she felt. Tav thought for years that a man would never caress her again, that she couldn’t bear to let another physically have admission to the spectrums of her ecstasy. But, Astarion roused a blistering zeal she had been petrified was completely emptied out of her from her last relationship.

He easily entered her, rocking her back and forth on his digits. “I can’t believe how your cunt drips for me, lover.”

He gave her no breadth of room to steady her breathing as his long fingers firmly thrusted into her canal. The vamp crooked them into that spongy spot within her and she perilously concentrated to keep her lips open wide for him. The songstress’s pitch, once mere murmurs of dew drops falling from leaves into the soft earth, became lewd church bells of lamenting convictions sobbing his name.

“As-Astarion! Astarion. Ahhhhh. Oooo.”

Deftly does he move his hand from her breast to her mouth. He placed his index and middle fingers in front of her crying lips, coaxing it to open. A long exerted sigh of warmed air left her lungs as she readily—so hastily—accepted his agile instruments into her wet orifice. Tav greedily slid her tongue between his fingers, offering the loveliest of sucklings to them as a succubus’s groan filled her mouth. The holy water of her saliva could not keep him out.

Her body turned pliable when he nibbled near the point of her ear, flicking her earring with his tongue. She sighed around the intrusions in between her lips, finding herself grinding her backside along his hard cock. He stilled her with a thumb pressing along her aroused clit.

Astarion alternated between gentle languorous pumps into her drenched slit and rubbing her sensitive bundle of nerves. He softly stroked from the middle of her vagina up to her unhooded clit, applying slow thrums of taps when she whimpered for him to keep going. Then, he slid his fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ down her inner labia lips slowly until he reached the entrance of her sex, encircling it gently.

The further he prepped her for climax, the more her spit coated his fingers and dribbled down her chin in an immodest show of her starved paradise. The woman within his arms begged for release with her body the more she sacrificed herself to him.

There was a howling wind knocking at his tent and cicadas drowning out their debauched acts. Astarion was washing her ashore with his fingers moving like honey exploring her insides. Her pearl was his to enrapture and he was massaging it so sweet.

“I’m close,” the songbird whispered into the dimly lit space of their sins.

“Sing for me,” he keened.

Then, his fangs were biting into the ripe juncture of her neck and he was drinking her like a carafe of water. The blood was flowing in a deluge of puddles into his mouth, ribbons of merlot streaming from the wound. And the noises he made as if she belonged to only him, sent a twinge of secretions to her nether regions she didn’t realize she could still create.

He lifted up from his supper long enough to tell her to cum for him and she did. She begged and screamed around his fingers in muffled phrases of “I want you inside me” and “ oh my gods, Astarion.” Waves washed over her body in a rite of passage ceremony, contracting around his willowy fingers as they slowed their propels.

As the quakes started to subside, Tav removed saliva soaked fingers from her mouth and tugged on his silvery curls, ripping his face towards her from his drink. Her half-lidded pools of blue bore into the crimson of his eyes. The smells of her vitality and sexual energy were heavy in the air, a luring mixture of creeds continually inviting him in. She stared at the bloody nectar flowing down his chin—the smears stained across his mouth—and crushed her lips against his.

The vampire spawn moaned into her mouth, then pulled back from the kiss. He pulled out his fingers from her quivering heat and cupped her cheek, her musky elixir permeating her skin. His eyes foraged hers, moving back and forth, as if he were seeking spiritual redemption. And she waited. She waited for him to discover one of the unspoken truths she could not explain.

Finally, he kissed her back with salty musk and rich caramel taste thick on his tongue as he stuck part of it in her mouth. Then, there was a frantic impulse where they were placing open-mouthed kisses on each other's hands, necks, and faces. Tav turned around, her breasts still unsheltered and her juices leaking down her thighs, as Astarion wrapped his arms around her back pulling her into him. She threw her arms around his neck, insatiably needing to cover herself with the scent from his body.

Struggling to breathe, she reached down to tear his billowy shirt from his pants. “I want to make you feel good too.”

But, he grabbed her calloused hands and pressed the back of them to his blood-stained lips with soothing pecks. “Not tonight, my dear. You have done more than enough.”

Tav retreated from him with a concerned smile, sitting back on her knees. The spell is now broken and self-consciousness festered within the small space. Something felt—off.

He reached for a few of the clean rags he kept and aided her in after care. With composure, he wiped her wetness away, then grinned impishly as he cleaned her lips and mouth of her red nectar. Delicately, he pulled her chemise back up over her chest, giving a final rub to her exposed shoulders.

There was a mournful dance behind his eyes and she wanted to lead him from his demons to lay his head in the cathedral of her lap. What’s wrong? she wanted to sing, stepping on airy tiptoes. Her thoughts were oscillating as her heart panged in an act of guilt and a bloom of feelings she wanted to extinguish. What they just did, meant something to her, but she wasn’t sure it did to him.

By the hells, she wanted to tell him that he made her feel wanted. That she never thought touch could feel like deliverance. That he was wanted too. And she would follow him through his odyssey of entrails because she cared about him with the passing second. But, it’s a conversation she didn’t know how to have.

“I should probably head back to my tent before anyone becomes too nosey,” Tav laughed anxiously.

Astarion simpered silently, opening the tent flap.

She smoothed down her locks, heading for the exit, forbidding herself to look back at him.

”Tav?”

Briefly, she glanced over her shoulder, afraid she had been used and was now being rejected. "Hmm?"

“To answer your question earlier about how your blood tastes—” he moved awkwardly, a fleeting expression of contemplation present.

“Yes?”

“You taste like ambrosial blackberries and…a ballad of home.”

[qualiteadnd]

Wedding Bells

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

Having been begged to wed the two young lovers, Grumbar holds a ceremony to unite them ( ft. wedding design by Bonu ) and makes a new acquaintance.

The next two days saw the gang’s little home turned into a designer’s nightmare. With his axe still strapped to his back, Bonu came to and from at all hours to make deliveries and preparations. Having recruited Edwin to his mission, the two had become quickly acquainted with every florist and baker in town.

Grumbar and Keros kept out of the way, opting instead to simply watch the hurricane from a safe corner of the parlor.

“You gonna say anything about where you were?” Keros asked over a milky cup of tea as Bonu paraded through with what could only be described as an ungodly amount of flowers.

At his side, Grumbar sipped at his own tea. “Nope.”

While Bonu and Edwin came and went, wiping demon blood off his robes was about the extent of preparation that Grumbar went through.

On the agreed upon day of the affair, Keros was finally roped into assisting. He helped Bonu create his both tasteful and gaudy vision of flowers, ribbons, and cake in the small garden beside the City of the Dead. Arches and bouquets, Bonu had managed to turn the graveyard adjacent space into the couple’s perfect church.

This was, of course, all in the shadow of an actual church near the cemetery. A small wooden structure, the priest there had also been warned against wedding the two, but from the doorway he smiled at the little set up and arrival of the young lovers before heading back inside. ( Best to avoid the whole ‘speak now’ thing by not actually witnessing it at all. )

Ian and Lyra showed up at the garden together shortly before the appointed time. Lyra gasped softly at the decorations and readily passed a small pouch of silver dust towards Grumbar when she saw the old cleric.

Taking it from her, Grumbar gestured to the little makeshift altar Bonu and Edwin had put together. “The two of you, come here.” He set the dust down beside the few things he had brought with him — a stone bowl, a red silk string, an athame, and a matchbox — and then held out his hand for their vows.

After reading over the vows, he passed them back with a nod and cracked his fingers together before picking up the red string. “My god is a… god of oaths,” he explained. “There is only until death do you part with this ceremony. If your love is true, offer each other your ring fingers to tie this ribbon around and we will begin.”

Keros, Bonu, and Edwin stood as witnesses to the ceremony as Ian and Lyra readily tied the string to each other’s fingers, smiling softly at each other all the while. The string between them was coiled into the stone bowl and Grumbar emptied the powdered silver over it. “You will read your vows together and place them in the bowl when you finish.

Over the garden as the young lovers read their vows, there was a soft energy that hummed with the performance of the ceremony. Not an audible thing, not one easily picked up on, but there all the same as the last priest of Grumbar carried out these sacred rites.

The vows were set in the bowl together and Grumbar gestured for their tied fingers to be extended. With the athame, he pricked their fingers and let their blood drip over the vows before striking a match and setting the contents of the bowl aflame. As the flames burned crimson, Grumbar settled his hands on either side of the bowl. “With this, let your bond be as sturdy as stone. So mote it be.”

As he spoke, the fires licked up the ribbon before it broke, coiling up and burning slowly in the bowl. It left Lyra and Ian married, with rings of ribbon on their fingers, and an overwhelming joy.

Grumbar looked away from the newly weds, both to give them their peace as they stepped away from the altar and because he had the strange sense they were all being watched. He looked back towards the church, seeing nothing at first, but soon catching a glimpse of dark eyes from one of the shrubs. Before he could nudge one of the fighter types he lived with, a stone being rolled out, stopping right at Grumbar’s feet.

“Grumbar!” the stone creature said, voice gravelly and harsh.

“Who’s your friend?” Bonu asked, still wiping at the tears the ceremony had invoked.

The cleric looked down at it warily. “Not sure…”

In the rough, primordial Terran language, the creature introduced itself to Grumbar as an aspect of the divine Grumbar.

Keros, only familiar with primordial Aquan, leaned over towards Bonu and Edwin and whispered, “I think this is Grumbar’s son… But this accent is a little… drier than I’m used to.”

Grumbar, on the other hand, found he could understand the dialect quite clearly. “You’re a… guardian?” he asked, suddenly fluent in Terran.

“Yes, Grumbar.”

“Do you have a name?” He was met with silence and returned to Common. “So we’ll work on the name thing.” Grumbar looked back at the others. “I… guess we have a new… rock.”

“Your son is very cute, Grumbar,” Keros said.

“He’s not my son.”

The knee-high stone creature rolled itself up into a small boulder and began to roll around the four of them. They watched until the rock creature rolled itself out and sat down next to the cleric, watching and waiting. Grumbar nodded.

“Right. His name’s Sonic. He’s uh… gonna be staying awhile.”

[thetradeway]

Session 6

(Scribbly notes as Duncan and I are the only players for a while. We survived the sewers, but just barely. We came back up, and Filiare let us look at one of the notices on the board for work. Melaina and Gunna went to the Sea Ward with Gideon, leaving Ahleqs, Kessler and Tarragon in the pub. We decided to look into the job asking for herbalists, since Tarragon is one in training.)

Temple to Ogma - God of knowledge. Tarragon can try there to look for Bancroft Thorne (A man she has been told can maybe help her heal her sick sister, Tansy). Copper hued. Flags/wall hangings showing unfurled scroll Orlaine - priestess looking into Bancroft Thorne for Tarragon. Tarragon donates 10gp.

Road’s End - a tomb for travellers and adventurers

Mausoleum - house of the homeless

behind a mausoleum on the east wall dark leaves white flower with red centre. has a faint magical aura

flowers have irregularities - have been altered. Bees aren’t visiting it. The guide seems to know more than he’s saying

Students from the magic college don’t think it’s right The seeds in the flower ripen in the day and are gone the next morning

bulbous red seeds. Tarragon breaks one open - dry and floury in the middle. Skin comes away easily.

Kessler goes back to the pub, abandoning Tarragon and Aleqs. T. makes poultices while Aleqs sleeps. He takes first watch once night falls. The seeds glow in the dark. Glowing red. Possibly always glowing but only shows in the dark.

Tarragon hears wings - a black shape swoops over the wall, plucks a seed, goes to fly off with it. Flies toward the river we crossed on our way in to Waterdeep. It flew to the east following the river on the near side.

Guard says the Stump Bog is out that way - it’s a nasty place, full of plague. Nothing good ever comes out of it. We decide to go and get our party before we venture out that way.

(Gunna popped in in the meantime, so Kessler has maybe taken him to an orc bar)

[beesandbooks1]

D&D Series #7: Modules

To read this book on my blog instead click here

What are modules?

Modules are typically books or booklets released by sources such as Wizards of the Coast or produced by independent D&D fans and hosted on a variety of sites. A traditional module is one that is intended to be used for a full campaign, or carry players to a higher level (usually level 10 or higher). Modules such as Curse of Strahd are released in full book length, with long descriptions, NPCs to utilize, tables for creating additional flavor and NPCs, maps to copy or use on the table, and a variety of other important aspects to a campaign.

Smaller modules can encompass one-shots or short quests that are designed to level players up. A lot of these shorter modules are popular for DMs in the early stages of campaigns, where lower level characters are a bit too easy to kill off. One shots can also be used for single play use for irregular groups, or can be incorporated into long-standing campaigns depending on the levels of the characters.

How do you use them as a DM?

Modules can be incredibly useful for a starting DM, or even to one that doesn’t have the time to structure a campaign by themselves. The module books will lay out the story, its main characters, and any number of factors that play a role in the plot. They also include descriptions, images, and even maps of the setting that make setting the table easier.

A shorter module will usually feature one map of the primary location, where you are meant to draw the characters so they can encounter the main event of the story. There may be additional images and descriptions that are helpful, and for a medium sized module with multiple potential encounters there may be more than one map. Often in a shorter module, only a few NPCs are given (stats and description, typically) due to the lack of need for more. There is usually a single overarching plot that characters can play with and potentially create new elements to. Treasure, item descriptions, and stat blocks for enemies are generally provided.

A longer module is, naturally, more complex. For something such as Curse of Strahd, which has a rich history in the D&D community as well as a lot of work put into it, the module will have everything from a detailed history of the world for the DM to understand to a variety of potential encounters that may be missed altogether by the characters. For these, as a DM it’s important to read and study everything included. This is because in these longer modules it’s easy for important details and exposition to be lost in the shuffle and the characters to be left out of the loop. As the DM sometimes you have to insert exposition somewhere else because your players don’t know the layout of the module. If they skip over a quest that reveals important information, you can’t force them to go back and complete it so instead you have to be comfortable enough with the module’s story arc to insert that exposition somewhere your players do go.

How do you play them as a player?

As a player, modules can be tricky. First and foremost, long term modules absolutely do not work unless all the players are on board with them. This is because once locked into the story and setting, there isn’t really a way out until things have reached their conclusion. If you decide you don’t want to play in a campaign full of vampires, Curse of Strahd isn’t a viable campaign for you anymore.

Part of approaching modules is determining how your game will be. Will the DM be strict about what conforms to the module’s world? Will your character be based on some of the features of the module (such as unique backgrounds and class options offered)? When I began a campaign playing Curse of Strahd as a player, the situation was unique. I was playing with the DM and no other players and so each of us were creating two characters to form a party of the recommended size. As a result, I got to dictate the direction the party would take and chose to make an evil party. The DM agreed to these terms and adapted aspects of the module to fit an evil party as opposed to a good one.

On another occasion, I attempted to join a module for Waterdeep. The DM was very strict about their interpretation of the rules and the nature of the module. Since the module primarily took place in a city, they refused to allow us to make characters that had a background in nature or the wild, insisting that such characters just wouldn’t work. Additionally, we had to adapt our characters strictly to the lore of Waterdeep which didn’t leave a lot of room for creativity. They also refused to change any rules, situations, encounters, or characters in the original module thus putting us into an encounter in our first session that was over our level as a party and resulted in my character being brain-wiped and functionally dead. It was an unpleasant experience for me as a player and I promptly left the group.

Once the players have agreed to a module, it’s important the as players you look into what you’re allowed to on that module. The setting and history of the area will absolutely impact your character and if you are dedicated to playing the module experience, it’s important your character actually fit the setting. That being said, it’s also important that the module play is fun. If the DM or one or more players don’t seem to be able to adapt to the module in a way they enjoy, it might not be the module for the table.

Final Thoughts

Modules can definitely be useful and fun! As a DM, I’m looking forward to running a module soon and I’ve definitely utilized single play modules to help move stories along in my campaigns. I haven’t had a whole lot of luck playing modules, but I know that really it comes down to a table and a DM that work together well to make them successful. Modules are particularly useful for DMs that don’t have the energy or time to construct long, thought out campaigns on their own. It absolutely still requires the DM to be creative and utilize the module to its fullest! Modules can also provide valuable information such as stat blocks, pre made NPCs, drawn maps, and more. Ultimately, modules are a useful tool if one wants to use them.

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[luskanirregulars]

Who Are the Irregulars?

“Be it by seeking fortune or passage, each of us has done time before the mast.” (- Code phrase used to identify fellow “crew” of ship Fair Lusk)

At first glance, Fair Lusk appears nothing more then a simple trading schooner, one of many that sail beneath the banner of High Captain Kurth. Primarily used for travel and transport between the ports of Waterdeep, Luskan, and Neverwinter, the Fair Lusk serves a far more purposeful role to the people of Faerun. If a gifted -or more accurately, drow- wizard casts the “Dancing Lights” cantrip across the name of the ship a change will occur, revealing the true name to be Feir Luth or Far-Flung in the drow tongue. It does not take a creative mind to understand the implications of such a name. The ship is captained by one whom is never seen and stranger still hardly walks the decks of this ship. Instead the ship is used as a recruitment station, traveling the far reaches of the Sea of Swords. The ship does not serve to recruit crew, for there is no shortage of those who seek to gain the favor of its patron, but rather to seek individuals of renown or worth to serve the needs of One-Eyed-Jack (a mysterious and aloof figure that some have called a myth). Should your worth be found -and if you’re reading this it has- then upon disembarking you will receive a letter directing you to a backwater bar in the pirate port of Luskan. The One-Eyed-Jax. It is there that you will be given an offer that you can’t -and evidently did not- refuse.  Welcome, far-flung agents of Luskan Irregulars, to the true face of the Fair Lusk. Welcome to Bergan D'aerthe.

[qualiteadnd]

A Cult Classic II

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

With the return of their cleric and a new friend, the Irregulars dive deeper into the dark magic underbelly of Waterdeep.

As Bonu and Keros were cleaning up breakfast the next morning, Grumbar returned at long last. Expecting the old cleric to possibly still be drunk from whatever bender he’d been on in the last week, they were both surprised to find him stone cold sober for the first time since they’d met him.

“Some things came up…” he explained quietly.

While Bonu was all for this change of heart, Keros seemed a little concerned about the strange behavior from their usually predictable friend. Regardless, they caught him up on their latest mission from Mara and the three set out to meet Edwin.

Down the road at the Grinning Lion, Edwin was greeting the day with a house ale and offered to buy a round for the three of them after introductions were made. With Grumbar passing down free alcohol, Keros knew something was up, but the cleric waved off any questions, insisting they should probably get to figuring out this cursed card thing.

Wandering the Trade Ward, they popped into some of the shops that the gang hadn’t hit up the day prior. Orsabba’s shop front was curious and welcoming, inviting people to spend their coin on all manner of magical baubles and goods. They let themselves in with a jingle of the bell and began to poke around the wares until a young man stepped out of the back.

Before he could introduce himself, Keros asked if he’d heard about the death of Valuth Myres and the man instantly paled. “Valuth was a good friend,” he explained. “I-I told him something wasn’t right about those cards.”

Introducing himself as Mateo Leeson, he explained he’d already spoken with the Watch. That wasn’t good enough for Edwin, however, who pushed the man up against a wall and encouraged him to tell him everything he knew about the matter.

Keros and Grumbar were quick to intervene while Bonu poked his nose into the back of the shop. Keros pulled Edwin back, warning the old timer against using force on innocent folks as Grumbar took over the interrogation.

Though Grumbar tried to play good cop, Edwin’s bad cop routine had definitely turned Mateo off. “Look,” he said warily. “Valuth was my friend. I don’t think he got those cards from any of the shops around here.”

He edged around them all to the counter and wrote out a list of all the reputable magic shops in the area, including a new shop that had been stealing business with incredibly low prices. “I don’t know anyone over there, but their prices are too low to be… reliably enchanted. If you can run whoever’s behind this out of business… I might be able to get you some deals with Orsabba.”

As Bonu ducked out from the back, where he definitely should not have been snooping and had definitely found nothing but in process enchantments, Keros distracted Mateo with a thanks and an apology. He slid him a gold piece and followed the rest of them out of the shop.

As they started to make their way towards the River Gate, Bonu started to get the sense someone was following them again. Every time he glanced back, a young man and young woman froze up a bit before eventually steeling themselves up and approaching the group directly.

“Sorry to interrupt, but are you a priest?” they asked Grumbar.

Ian Evry and Lyra Majarrah, as they quickly introduced themselves, were young and in love. Lyra’s family, however, was against the union and had enough money to ensure no church or temple in the city would wed them.

Teary eyed, Bonu was already on the side of the young lovers and insisting Grumbar should help. The cleric sighed and looked them over. “Are you serious about this?” They were. “Then I’ll do it, but only under a few conditions. First, is there a place that’s special to you?”

Ian and Lyra quickly decided on a park near the City of the Dead where they’d gone on walks together.

“Then we’ll hold the ceremony there in two days. You’ll provide me with powdered silver worth 25 gold for it and you’ll write your vows— and I mean really write them. If they’re bad you’re going to do it again, got it?”

Readily agreeing to it, they clasped his hand and thanked him profusely before running off to make their preparations.

Bonu watched them go with a smile and big plans already forming.

The rest of the trip down to River Gate was uneventful. They found the storefront to River Gate Goods dark and tucked away between two busier shops. A pull on the door found that it was open, but no clerk came to greet them.

Trusting that something wasn’t right, Grumbar cast Detect Evil and Good and caught a bright flash of something definitely evil from beneath the shop.

“See,” Keros said to Edwin, “this is when you can use force.” And then vaulted over the counter to reach the cellar door behind it.

While Keros and the others descended, Bonu quickly jogged back outside and found some young children playing with some sticks. “Hey, hey kids. There’s something real scary in this shop,” he said pointing at River Gate Goods. “Go find a guard, okay? Tell them: Bonu said to go get Kraag.”

Wide eyed, the kids just nodded at this large barbarian fellow and quickly ran off with their sticks. Deciding that was good enough, Bonu pulled his axe off his back and charged in after his friends.

That was when the screaming started.

Beneath the shabby magic shop, the usual storage cellar had been turned into altar space. Keros dropped to the ground and made room for the others coming down the ladder, his eyes focused on the grotesque demon sinking its claws into a cultist at the head of the room. “Think we found the source of that evil.”

While some of the cultists seemed thrilled to see this creature, others were hurriedly backing away as they realized their mistake.

Arrows knocked, axe drawn, knuckles cracked, and prayers at the ready, the party descended on the demon with the same approach they took to every fight: hurt it hard and fast before it can do the same. Those few cultists who seemed to welcome the demon were taken out of the fight with arrows and by the demon itself. Bonu and Edwin got to work, wailing on the thing with quick, critical hits.

Sensing something holy with Grumbar, who’d gotten a little to close to the thing, the demon attempted to make a terrible strike at him, but was ultimately slain, collapsing in an even more grotesque heap.

“Someone should start explaining what was going on down here,” Edwin suggested, cracking his bloodied knuckles again and looking at the remaining cultists. Keros drew another arrow and planted himself firmly between them and the exit.

One of the men stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. “We just wanted to change things,” he said. “We’ve lost people and we’ve watched the nobles do nothing. We thought,” he glanced back at the demon and grimaced, “we thought we could summon an archfiend and make a deal, but, uh….”

“But you fucked up.” The cultist let out a startled half shriek as Edwin clamped a hand on his shoulder. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Dave…”

“Alright, Dave. Next time you want to change things, maybe don’t join a cult,” said Edwin. Bonu gestured to the cultist puddle beneath the demon and Dave paled further.

Above them, they could hear heavy footsteps coming into the shop. Keros leaned back towards the cellar door and a gave a little wave as a familiar half-orc appeared. “All clear! Mostly. It’s uh… little gross down here, but all clear!”

Kraag came down the ladder, followed by two more of the Watch as the others began investigating the shop proper. “Gods, what is that?” he asked looking at the mess of demon.

“It was supposed to be Mamnon, but uhm… we… messed up… something,” Dave said glancing back and forth between the remaining two cultists and their ruined altar. At the look from Kraag, Dave wisely shut up and began to examine the dirt under his feet.

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” Kraag told him before returning his attention to the party wiping off various gross blood splatters from their persons. “Well, thanks for calling us this time. Got here as quick as we could, but glad to see you could handle it.” He squinted at the bloodied mess. “You’re sure it’s dead?”

“Pretty damn.”

Kraag looked over at the old monk and nodded. “Good, good. I hate demons.” With the Watch taking it from there, Kraag told them to head back to the Blackwoods and send his gratitude.

Mara was relieved to hear it was taken care of and paid not only her agents for their service, but offered payment to Edwin as well as a show of good faith. “I can’t promise my mother will want to hear you out, Mr. Thorne, but I will see what can be done. You’ve done us a favor here.”

Having done their good deed and seeing a job well done, Bonu invited Edwin back to their place for dinner and to begin the preparations for Lyra and Ian’s wedding. “They deserve the best. This is a true romance,” he explained, ushering everyone out of Mara’s study. “We’ll need flowers, decorations, a cake! I need at least a week Grumbar, is it too late to reschedule?”

“Yes.”

“Never mind, they’ve waited long enough anyhow and I’ve got the perfect buttercream recipe for this.”

With no reference for this in the slightest, Mara simply shook her head and smiled as they left. They weren’t exactly the terrible assassins her mother had once painted them.

[qualiteadnd]

A Cult Classic I

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

The mysterious death of a young man involving cursed magics and the continued unrest in the city sends the party on a hunt for answers.

Actually living in Waterdeep turned out to be not so different from simply renting a room in one of its many inns. They spent the next few days working with Mara to learn a little bit more about their position with the family. And Bonu, in high key decorator mode, put both Keros and Grumbar to work at odd and random times. But otherwise the party dynamic was much of what it had been before the offer.

That is, until Grumbar left the house muttering to himself one morning with barely a glance at the other two. A quick promise to return eventually was all they got before the cleric slammed the door behind him.

“Should we follow him?”

“It’s Grumbar, I’m sure he’s fine.” Probably.

A few days later and still no sign of Grumbar, they were called to meet Mara and found her rifling through paperwork in her study nervously. After asking after the cleric and getting shrugs from the archer and barbarian, she sighed and shook her head.

“I don’t know if he’d be of help here or not. There was a tragic accident in the Castle Ward three days ago. Valuth Myres perished in an explosion. He was found among the rubble of his home with an untouched deck of cards. A wizard with the Watch recently confirmed they’re cursed, but we haven’t a clue where he got them. Earlier that afternoon, Valuth been seen bragging about these supposedly ‘lucky’ cards at a tavern nearby, but that seems to be all we have.”

With orders to check in with Kraag at the Watch before the case ran too cold, they made a quick detour for Bonu to grab a small basket of pastries from their kitchen and headed off.

It was a quick trip across town to the Watch House and the guards seemed already accustomed to Bonu arriving unannounced with pastries. Bonu, to Keros’s amusement, already knew the path to Kraag’s office and knocked before just letting himself in.

Kraag, surrounded by a pile of paperwork, sighed when the door opened. “So Lord Blackwood sent you?” Kraag asked as Bonu offered him pastries. Despite looking beyond tired, the half-orc took one with a nod of thanks. “I’ve got people missing. Continued unrest. And now people dying.”

He went on to explain that, over the last couple of weeks, people had been turning up missing in the city. Until any evidence of them were found, the Watch was at a standstill there, but Myres’s death was raising other alarms.

“We’ve spoken with a friend of the victim, Mateo Leeson, but he doesn’t have any idea where Myres got these cards. We have a dozen magic shops in the city and it could be any of them. Could be an outside merchant. Could have been a gift. Nothing’s turned up yet and I’m run thin already,” he said with a gesture to the paperwork.

Promising to do what they could to help, the two made their way out of the Watch, following a vague lead that could really take them anywhere in the city. Inevitably, they ended up at the Roaring Lamb for their usual lunch and greeted Nick with friendly conversation.

At one end of the bar an older human gentleman with long graying hair sat watching the tavern and making friendly conversation with any who seemed interested. Though there was a small keg at his hip, he kept pushing his glass back towards Nick for refills when his conversations lulled.

Plotting out their means of investigation at one of the tables, Keros and Bonu missed much of the altercation between the old timer and three younger men in the tavern. But as a fight began to break out, the two pushed aside their drinks and stood up to come to his, and the barkeeper’s, assistance.

Which, they would quickly see, was mostly unnecessary.

Though Bonu and Keros had meant to just scare the lads into backing off with a little show of force, the old timer held none of his punches and unleashed a quick flurry of blows in the face of the first thug to raise his fists. With him preoccupied, Keros rounded on the second and pulled an arrow from his hip. A flash of arcane energy flared at its head and he stabbed it into the attacking thug’s shoulder, causing him to go blind for a brief second and recoil from the fight.

Smarter than his fellows, the third simply turned tail and booked it. Bonu was quick on his feet, however, and chased after him, calling the guards as they sprinted down the main road. Keros, loathe to leave Bonu to his own devices, abandoned the old timer, who seemed just fine on his own with the two staggered thugs, and booked it after the barbarian with his net in hand.

After a brief tussle and ensuring the city guards had it from there, they took stock of the brief mess they’d made of the tavern. Before Nick could even raise a fuss over the broken glassware, the old timer slid him a couple of gold paired with a smile and an apology.

“You lads are spirited,” the old timer said, as Keros and Bonu each slid an additional gold to Nick’s recompense. “Name’s Edwin,” he said, inviting himself to their table.

Introducing themselves, they marveled at his fighting ability to which he laughed, taking a drink from a newly refreshed pint. “Just an old traveler. Nothing special. But I like the folk around here. There are enough bullies in the nobility, we don’t need to go fighting among each other on top of it.”

Against Keros’s better judgement, Bonu went onto say not all nobility was bad. The surviving Blackwoods were certainly trying.

Curious to hear those sort of sentiments, especially about the Blackwoods, Edwin reluctantly agreed. “But as long as its only them doing the ruling around here, nothing will change. That Sultlue was just on trial and nothing’s come of it.”

Taking a leap, Bonu suggested that if Edwin could help them out with a favor, maybe they could put him in touch with someone who had more power to change things than them. “We could put in a good word, but first we’re looking to figure out who killed this guy, Valuth. He sorta blew up. Kind of a pressing issue.”

Finding their investigation more interesting than a daytime bar crawl, Edwin agreed to help, especially if they could put him in touch with a lord. So they settled their tabs and headed out, with Edwin sipping at his flask as they left.

The couple of magic shops they stopped in were small and a bit skittish, having already had guards and concerned patrons poking in earlier in the day. They swore their products were up to code with the merchant guild’s magic division and that they’d never done business with Valuth Myres.

One shop they popped into was less of a magic shop and more of a general armor and weaponry shop with some magical wares within, but they stopped in out of curiosity. While there, Bonu commissioned a new set of armor and Keros impulse traded his silvered rapier for a finely crafted trident.

Duwain Bladesemer even agreed to give them a bit of a deal when Bonu yet again let slip they had connections to the Blackwoods. If they could forge an exclusive contract between House Bladesemer and House Blackwood for their armory supplies, Duwain promised Bonu even better deals in the future.

“That was productive,” Bonu said as they walked out, their purses much lighter.

Sipping from his flask, Edwin eyed the two of them. “Was it though?”

With night starting to roll in and being no closer to solving this than when they started, they split ways with Edwin for the evening. They would meet him at the Grinning Lion, the inn closer to Blackwood Manor, in the morning and try again tomorrow.

“I like him. He has a good heart,” Bonu said, leading the way home.

Keros agreed and looked up at the darkening sky. “But have you noticed everyone we work with is always drunk?”

Having left his fellows without much explanation, Grumbar found himself inexplicably drawn to the needle point tower that loomed in the heart of Waterdeep. While he had never intended to visit the Plinth, the strange dreams and troubled thoughts he had been having since he swore himself to the Blackwoods drew him closer.

A massive granite tower with spiraling balconies, the Plinth was a beacon for worshipers of the old gods whose practices were often forgotten and unwelcome. There was solidarity among the various priests, monks, and other followers within who came to remember they were not so alone. And as the last priest of Grumbar, Grumbar had planned to avoid this place with more care than he had avoided plagues in the past.

Finding himself there now, however, Grumbar’s feet brought him to a forgotten altar on the ground floor where darkness quickly overtook him. Instead of this tiny stone altar, he stood before a massive stone face, larger than any mountain and impossible to see in a single glance. Though the mouth of this face moved, its voice, rough like gravel, reverberated through his very being: 

“Hello, my child. You lost faith in me, but I do not hold it against you. I have been gone too long and too much has changed in my absence. But more change is yet to come. 

You have work to do. The land is in peril and the anima of this world is crying out. There is an evil clawing at the roots of the world, threatening to tear apart the very mountains themselves. Though you are a mere mortal, you are my only living follower in this land with even a glimmer of belief left in you. 

Yes, you have broken tenets. You have not preached in my name for over a decade. But none of that matters, because at your core, in your immovable bedrock, you were still true… just… waiting. We have both been… asleep. But even the land will shift and buckle if enough pressure is applied. Now… the earth quakes… and the world wakes. 

You have much work to do, my Chosen.” 

Grumbar woke, sobered and alone, in front of the altar and unaware of what time had passed. When he had entered the Plinth, the sun had been high in the sky. And as he made his silent way out, the sun was rising once more.

[qualiteadnd]

Law & Order: Waterdeep

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

After being framed for the assassinations of Waterdeep nobility by Z, Lord Arboreus Sultlue’s best hope for freedom is the party that first accused him.

After Lord Sultlue’s arrest and the unfortunate incident regarding the Wooden Man and his employer, Lord Blackwood requested that Keros, Grumbar, and Bonu remain in Waterdeep for the time being. After reminding them that they owed her their freedom, the group readily agreed, even though Greyson and his dogs were long gone.

Though they occasionally received missives from the Blackwoods at the Roaring Lamb, where they decided to stay now that the family wasn’t footing their bill, they didn’t see much of them. Instead, they spent their days catching up on some of the highlights of Waterdeep that they had previously missed out on. Keros caught up on news at the Selune temple, Bonu made his acquaintance with just about everyone he met, and Grumbar continued to ignore his clerical duties and tour the city pubs between some quick for hire jobs the three of them took up.

Days later, they were summoned back to Blackwood Manor. This time, Lady Westra was no where to be seen, but Lady Mara was waiting outside with a carriage.

“The trial is today,” she said after polite greetings were exchanged, “for Lord Arboreus. I know he’s not the sweetest man, but he is innocent. I would like it if you accompanied me. It’s formality, really, the evidence I presented the Watch with is enough to clear him, but… You’ve seen how the people of the city feel about nobles of late. It’s best we go through with the trial as normal.”

With some reluctance ( because he was not a sweet man and the party still thought he was creepy enough to not be trusted ), they agreed to it and joined Mara down to the Piergeiron’s Palace. A grand white stone structure at the foot of Mount Waterdeep, the palace was where the courts were held and where the Masked Lords, among others, would assemble to oversee the affairs of the city.

They followed Lady Mara inside and, alongside Captain Kraag who had arrived ahead of them, were directed by clerks within to the massive court chamber.

With striking statues and cathedral architecture, the room was vast and echoing. At a raised bench in the back of the chamber sat a woman who, at a distance, seemed younger than her long silver hair could lead some to believe. Open Lord Laeral Silverhand sat over the court with a number of masked individuals flanking her.

With a simple bow to the Open Lord and no acknowledgement to the other figures, Mara took a seat in one of the empty rows of seat. Being unfamiliar with the political etiquette of the city, Keros, Grumbar, and Bonu simply followed suit with Kraag at their heels.

Sitting alone in the center of the chamber was Lord Arboreus Sultlue. There was something of an audible, echoing groan from him when they entered.

“You think he’d be nicer to us considering,” Grumbar muttered under his breath.

Mara shook her head. “Grumbar…”

Despite the Lords overseeing the court, it was called to order by the two figures who entered the chamber and took their places below the bench. Blackrobes Kylynne and Claudius were orchestrating the trial. Blackrobe Kylynne, a tiefling, seemed interested in why the party would now speak on behalf of the man they had accused in the first place. Her partner, a human, seemed to be less interested and encouraged them to hurry up their case.

One at a time, they each presented their piece. Explaining how the evidence did, at first, lead to Sultlue — the wights, the snakes, the attempts on his house that seemed to fail — but that this was just part of something bigger.

They presented both Blackwood amulets and the dagger Keros had first taken from the Wooden Man along with the letter. The evidence didn’t point so cleanly back towards Arboreus with the rest of the puzzle pieces lined up.

“We assumed the Wooden Man was dead,” Grumbar explained, attempting to guide their ill-prepared testimony.

Bonu nodded. “We sorta last saw him in piec—” Grumbar elbowed him a bit and Bonu quickly corrected, “dead. We saw him very dead. No reason to think he might still be around. Or a suspect.”

“But since he tried to kill us — again — clearly we were wrong,” Keros added.

Mara backed their statements and Blackrobe Kylynne turned to focus on the accused for the first time. “Lord Sultlue, what do you have to say?”

He tore his attention away from the seated Lords and faced the Blackrobes with his chin high. “I have professed innocence from the beginning. There is nothing more to say on a crime I was victim to.”

“The Watch acted with the information we had in the effort to protect the city,” Kraag said, standing from his spot beside Bonu. “We stand with the actions taken and would do so again, however we are glad to see our actions were only precaution. We have already begun to look for the the Wooden Man and his alleged employer.”

The Blackrobes thanked them all and then began to converse between themselves as Kraag sat down. There was some minor eye rolling from them both at each other and when they turned back to the witnesses, Claudius was more annoyed than before.

“The charges against Lord Arboreus Sultlue of crimes against the nobility of Waterdeep will be dropped in light of the evidence brought before the court. Do the Lords disagree?” Kylynne did not look behind her and, for a moment, was met only with silence.

“The Lords are in agreement,” said the Open Lord, standing at her bench.

With the motion made to drop the charges, the court was dismissed and Lord Arboreus wasted no time in exiting the chamber.

As they filed outside, chatting a bit with Kraag about what was being done about Z ( or Zymun, as they guessed ), they were surprised to see Arboreus waiting for them. Perhaps expecting a small bit of gratitude from the man, they were somehow more surprised by his warning to stay away from him in the future.

“You think he’d be grateful,” Bonu said as Arboreus stormed off.

“You did sneak into his home and get him accused in the fist place,” Kraag pointed out.

Keros just gestured after him. “But still. Manners.”

Mara coughed slightly to grab their attention and smiled softly. “This was mostly formality, as I said, but thank you for coming. Mother is attending some business in the city, but if you could return to the manor sometime this evening, we have a proposition for you.”

Curious, they agreed and parted ways with Mara. Kraag also excused himself on account of “business” when Bonu offered to buy the man a drink if he joined them at the inn. With that plan shot down, Bonu quickly had another idea and looked up at the mountain that backed the palace. “Let’s go for a hike.”

Grumbar started towards what, he assumed, would be a path, but Bonu had other plans and quickly started to climb the rock face. “You have got to be kidding me…” he muttered to no one, as Keros was quick to follow the barbarian’s lead. He stood where he was for a long minute before giving in.

After a long day of more climbing than hiking, they reached the peak of Mount Waterdeep, the sun already beginning to dip. The three sat down heavily, some more out of breath than others, and looked out over the city. Waterdeep was beginning to light up with the coming dusk, but there were no torches or mobs in its streets tonight. The City of Splendors was just that, in part — a little — because of them.

“It’s beautiful,” said Bonu.

Keros nodded, looking out towards the coast. “It is.”

“We’re taking the fucking path down,” Gumbar grumbled.

Catching their breaths, they soon got back to their feet and followed Grumbar’s lead to the gently winding path down the mountain. The chatter was friendly and light with some well meant grumbling about bullheadedness along the way. They might not have meant to stay together as long as they had so far, but they worked surprisingly well as a team all the same.

On arriving at Blackwood Manor, they were brought to a grand study they’d not seen before where Lady Westra sat with her daughter at her side. She looked over the three of them coolly and then folded her hands on the desk. “Are you familiar with the Lord’s Alliance?”

Having only the vaguest idea of it, they said no.

“Waterdeep, Neverwinter, the major cities in these parts, we do not always agree with each other, but we can agree on a desire for peace from outside threats. There is an alliance among certain houses that look to uphold that peace and who employ certain agents to see it done. My daughter,” she said, looking at Mara, “believes you three can be… shaped into proper representatives of both House Blackwood and Waterdeep.”

“You do not have to agree,” Mara said, speaking up, “but in doing so you would be formally employed by our family. If you do not, we ask you keep this to yourselves. These are not offers made lightly or commonly.”

The three looked between each other before Keros raised a hand. “What does it entail?” He made a gesture to the tabards worn by the house guards. “Are we just guards?”

“When necessary,” Westra said. “Without divulging more, you would be our agents beyond Waterdeep when such representation or force is required. And you would answer to Mara.”

Keros, at least, seemed sold on that plan. He glanced at the others and back to the Blackwoods, then put his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “I accept.”

Bonu followed suit. Waterdeep ( and Kraag ), he said, seemed like it could use their help.

Grumbar was the only one hesitant on the matter with both the Blackwoods and his companions looking on expectantly. A pact, as formal as this one, was not something he’d made in awhile, he muttered under his breath. “But if we’re doing this… I also accept.”

Looking only a little bit like he’d been struck by something, Grumbar, alongside Keros and Bonu, watched Mara smile.

Lady Westra stood to make her exit. “Try to keep them in line.”

As Westra left, Mara picked up a key from the desk. “There is a house on the property that hasn’t been used in some time. It’s been recently aired and it’s yours, should you like it.” As they thanked her and took the key, Mara smiled. “Good. This will be something of a learning process for us all, but we’ll discuss the details tomorrow. I wish you all a good night.”

As they left the manor, Keros twirled the key in his hand, brows raised. “We have a house.”

Bonu snatched the key from him and marched them towards the assumed direction of their new home with Grumbar lagging behind. “Boys, we are redecorating!”

[qualiteadnd]

Assassin’s Creed: Waterdeep III

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

With doubts being cast among the Masked Lords, the party chases a lead that may risk their current good standing with the city of Waterdeep.

With the Watch working on returning the undead to their tombs and keeping an eye out for any further unrest — from corpses or commoners — the party made the trek back to Blackwood Manor. With the late hour upon them, they expected to simply pass a word of warning of the continued unrest and return to their lodgings for the evening.

They didn’t expect to see every window lit and for the increased activity of Blackwood guards on the grounds. “Did word of the uprising make it this far?” Keros asked, which only alarmed the guards more.

“Uprising? No. There was a break in this evening. What uprising? Is there an uprising?”

Only partially calming the guards, they bullied their way past them and into the house for answers. Kosef was in the main parlor, polishing up a crossbow. “Ah good, you came. Mara’s in the study upstairs with Westra. Everyone’s okay, but you’ll forgive the security increase,” he said, patting his crossbow. “Called for the Watch, but gods know where they are tonight.”

Taking his direction, they headed upstairs to find Mara alone in the study. She looked up when they knocked and entered.

Promising she was alright, she informed them her room had been broken into sometime between when she’d changed for bed and when she’d gone to say goodnight to Ander. When she’d come back, the window had been shattered and her room had been tossed.

“The only thing missing,” Mara said, “seems to be the amulet. The one you returned to me, Keros. I think I know why Bran wanted it. It was a gift to Urth, ages ago, and was rumored to bring longevity to its wearer. But that’s a story, of course. Urth was very old when he died, but hardly as old as an elf, like rumor claimed. Even so, the amulet would only attune to a Blackwood and, well, you know Bran was my half-brother…” She shook her head. “I still don’t really know his intentions with it. But I have even less of an idea of why someone else would steal it.”

Agreeding to keep an eye out for it, they proceeded to inform her of what had transpired earlier. Keros, speaking on behalf of the party, promised to spend the night on watch with the guards at the manor. Before the rest of the party could raise objection to this, Mara thanked them all for everything they continued to do for her family and excused herself to a guest room for the night.

After a quiet night and breakfast with the Blackwoods, the group promised they were hunting down a good lead and would update Mara and Westra when they had more. With that, they headed towards the City of the Dead.

Though the day guards at the cemetery’s north entrance warned them of increased activity of the dead within, they assured them it was nothing to worry about in the day. This didn’t really comfort them any. Grumbar asked the guards for any directions towards the Sultlue tombs, as they wished to pay some respects, and the guards directed them without much question.

After some searching, they found the tomb with a large snake and dagger crest over the door and the family name engraved across the top.

The mausoleum, surprisingly, was already open. And a quick investigation turned up that most of the nearby tombs were locked tight — either preventing desecration or keeping great-granddaddy inside. Tossing the Waterdeep laws out the window yet again, they started to poke around. While some — Greyson — were interested in pilfering old trinkets and the like, the others turned up an alarming amount of evidence that didn’t paint Lord Arboreus and his kin in the best light.

The Sultlue tomb was blood spattered in what appeared to be the work of many old ( and some recent ) ritual sacrifices. The snake iconography ran deep, all the way to a tomb of what appeared to be an ancient Sultlue ancestor who was, perhaps, not entirely human. And maybe a little more yuan-ti.

Settling on the fact that this decidedly raised Arboreus from ‘kind of shitty and arrogant’ to ‘possibly trying to kill his fellow lords,’ they decided to seek out Kraag. Dealing with the lord themselves was probably frowned on after Bran, they figured.

The hunt for Kraag ended up leading them straight to Lord Arboreus regardless. A second break in of a noble house in less than a day, the Watch was on scene and starting to look a little tense. Telling Kraag what they’d seen and insisting they hadn’t broken in because it was already open, the captain groaned into his hands.

“I can’t go arresting a lord because of something previously wanted criminals found in his family tomb. Everything you have? It’s circumstantial at best.”

The choice, then, was clear. “Let us inside. We’ll find proof.”

Kraag looked at Keros as though he’d grown a second head. Able to convince Kraag with the promise that if they were wrong they would let it go ( but if they were right, he could arrest the threat to the nobles ), Kraag swore to himself. “You have five minutes and I had no part in this,” he warned them.

He then called over to Lord Arboreus and asked him to take a walk with him through the garden so they could go over the details one more time. “You said the key to your family tomb was taken from your study?” they heard Kraag say as the two walked off.

Deciding that was a very convenient a thing to have stolen, they booked it inside when no one was looking.

Expecting to be greeted with something similar to the Blackwood Manor — ornate, imposing, reeking of old money — they were caught off by the glass enclosure that made up the center of the home. Within were lush, green jungle plants unlike any that grew around these parts. The green house stretched to the roof, with sunlight filtering down through the leaves.

With that being both neat and a little weird, they moved past it towards Arboreus’s more private chambers. Grumbar cast Detect Poisons and Disease as they moved upstairs and nudged them towards a locked door. Calling Greyson away from his “investigation” of some statuary, the dwarf opened the door for them with ease.

Now, while having a hobby is not unusual, the last time they’d discovered a noble hiding a chemist’s lab it hadn’t simply been for fun. All sorts of vials, liquids, and deadly plants decorated the lab. Most notably, there were tanks of various sizes housing some rather mean looking snakes too.

Grumbar’s spell illuminated an assortment of venom and poisons in the room.

“Oooohhh I don’t like him,” said Bonu.

They continued to snoop and found an open study that looked as tossed and ruined as Mara’s room had, as well as what seemed to be the master bedroom. They began to nudge things around, finally settling on a chest at the foot of the bed that was double locked. Keros pulled Greyson back in from whatever he was investigating in the hall and had him open the chest.

A quick rummage inside turned up two things hidden at the bottom: a key and the Blackwood amulet.

Keros went to grab them both, but Grumbar stopped him. “If we take it to Kraag, he’ll have to explain how we were in here.”

“So we just leave it here? This is proof he came after Lady Mara!”

“We tell Kraag and he finds it.”

They put everything back, though less hidden and without locking anything, and crept back outside unseen with Greyson leading the way. They were on the lawn before Kraag and Arboreus rounded the corner.

“What are they still doing here?” Arboreus asked.

“I’ll check,” the watch captain said. He gave the party a look that demanded answers when he rejoined them. “Well?”

Quickly, speaking over each other as they went, they told him about what they’d found inside: the poisons, the amulet, the key.

Kraag pinched at the bridge of his nose. Telling them he’d take it from here, he advised them to leave the rest of this to his team. He spoke with some of his men and headed back into the house with them and Arboreus to “look over the scene one more time.”

They didn’t leave. And as the minutes ticked by with no sign of Kraag and his men, Bonu began to grow agitated, fiddling more and more with his axe. “What if that snake’s done something to Kraag? We have to go in there!” Grumbar’s insistence that they wait only worked for so long.

Deciding that Kraag was clearly in danger of Arboreus’s snake trickery, Bonu tried to storm the manor after him. Not as used to Bonu’s emotional outbursts, Greyson and the remaining guards looked on in fascination and horror as Keros threw a net on his companion and began to wrestle him to the ground. As he started to shout about a need for justice, Grumbar cast Silence over the three of them and shot the guards the most strained of thumbs up.

They bickered in pantomime until Kraag returned with Arboreus in tow. At which point, the Silence dropped and both Keros and Bonu scrambled back up to their feet.

Arboreus had never looked more indignant. With a guard on either side, he was being escorted away from his home with loud complaints that he’d never seen that amulet in his life, this was a misunderstanding, and that they would pay for this. Kraag, looking more tired than relieved to have all of this over, had the key and amulet in hand.

“You can tell Lord Blackwood and her family that Lord Sultlue is being questioned on his involvement in all of this. This is going to be messy as it is, I would appreciate it if they were the only ones you told.” He turned the amulet over to Keros. “I understand this is an old heirloom, nobles tend to not like those things being out of their own hands for too long. See they get it back.”

Thanking him and promising they would, the party returned to Blackwood Manor. Mara was thrilled to see them back, but she seemed to already know about Sultlue’s arrest. “Mother was called away for a meeting of the Ma- of the lords. Word of his arrest is already spreading,” she told them.

Mara gave a small smile to Grumbar, Bonu, and Keros as the amulet was once again returned to her hands. “I don’t think you’re mother’s favorite people yet, but she is thankful.” From the table beside her, she pulled four small pouches of gold to hand to each of them.

Greyson thanked her for the coin and gave the others a nod of ‘well, it’s been fun’ and whistled to his dogs. They scrambled to their feet and followed the dwarf to the door where a young boy stood, hand poised to knock. Arching a skeptical brow at the kid, they moved past each other and Greyson stepped outside.

“Lady Mara Blackwood?” the boy asked as he came inside. “I’ve a delivery for Lady Mara.”

Surprised, she beckoned him over and took the small, paper wrapped package. “Just a moment,” she told him and the others as she opened it.

Mara gasped as a second Blackwood amulet stared back at her. Shocked, she read the letter, in its neat and cramped cursive, aloud:

Mara, 

I believe this belongs to you. As I worried, there was little magic left within. You may have it back. However, I believe my associate, Daerin, still has some unfinished business with your three retainers. Thanks for all the help! 

Wishing you the best of luck!  Z 

“Darnell?” Bonu asked.

At which point, their attention shifted from Mara and the letter to the boy who was no longer a boy. In his place stood a pale, heavily scarred elf in black leathers: the Wooden Man, alive and in the flesh.

Using the element of surprise, he laughed and attacked Grumbar, coming at him with a poisoned dagger. When Grumbar tried to Hold Person him, as he had done the last time, the assassin shrugged it off with a mad grin. “That won’t work this time, Grumbar.”

Keros quickly moved between Daerin and a frozen Mara, arrows notched and ready as Bonu went into another rage. Unable to pin him down and simply wail on him, the fight was a little better matched, with the elf giving as good as he got. He even managed to cast Hold Person on Grumbar for a moment, though the concentration was quickly broken.

( In the fight, no one noticed the door open and close or the invisible dwarf thief who stood blocking the elf’s escape. )

Thinking they were finally wearing him down, Keros was startled by shattering glass. He thought, perhaps, one of his arrows had gone impossibly wide, but a shimmer of illusion magic showed the truth. The assassin they were fighting had, at some point, cast a double of himself and sneaked towards the window.

“Don’t think I’m through with you!” he shouted, vaulting out the window and vanishing.

They were left standing there wondering what just happened ( and Greyson slipped out unseen once more ).

Finding Lady Mara unresponsive through all of this, they caught sight of a strange sheen on the amulet and pried it from her hand with a cloth. She quickly shrugged out of what state she’d been in, wiping her hand quickly on her skirts. A contact poison of some kind, she had been unable to move shortly after picking up the amulet.

“If this is the real amulet,” she said, handling it through the cloth, “then… there’s been a mistake with Lord Sultlue, hasn’t there?”

“The Jardeth guards said a hired elf had gone rogue on them,” Bonu said as reality came crashing down.

Keros pulled out the twisted dagger, permanently coated in a dangerous sheen of poison, that he’d taken off the Wooden Man when they’d first encountered him. “Guys?”

Grumbar put a hand over his face and sighed. “We just helped Z and Daryl frame a lord.”

Greyson ( ft. Mac & Gruff the mastiffs ) — “Dwarf.” Thief Rogue. Played by Malfrost.

[qualiteadnd]

Assassin’s Creed: Waterdeep II

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

Now convinced that the strange deaths of the Waterdeep lords are all connected, the party begins to seek answers in the city.

Summoned to Blackwood Manor early the next morning, the party found a frustrated Mara waiting for them. There had been another incident in the night, she told them, Lord Arboreus Sultlue was alright, thank the gods, and had managed to fend off the attacker.

“I’ve only just heard word of this, but please, look into it before things get anymore out of hand.”

So with the sun only just rising, the team made their way through the North Ward to Sultlue Manor. The property was teeming with the Watch, including Captain Agundar. Before they could ask after the lord’s whereabouts, he made himself known.

Young and arrogant, Lord Arboreus was not thrilled to have the city guards roaming about his property and was somehow less thrilled to see the adventurers than even Kraag. “I’m quite capable of handling things myself, clearly,” he said with a hand on his sword. “Tell that to the Blackwoods before they send their dogs.”

Mac and Gruff were rightly offended.

With some careful diplomacy, a feat lead by Grumbar, they were able to learn that Arboreus had been attacked with a dagger in the night, but had surprised the attacker with a blade of his own from beneath his pillow. Dressed all in black, the attacker had barely made a sound as they fled Arboreus and his guards.

Curious, they asked if the attacker had been an elf, but Arboreus seemed honest enough when he said he couldn’t tell.

“Whoever it was, they won’t be back, I can promise you that. I had my guards chase them down all the way to the South Ward, but the bastard found some hole to hide in.”

Wanting to be done with Arboreus as soon as possible, Greyson had his dogs sniff at a piece of cloth torn from the assailant. They then set off after Mac and Gruff towards the South Ward. More dumb floppy muscle than hunting dogs, however, neither really turned up much after even a few hours of wandering the streets. Needing to rethink their plans and fill their stomachs, they stepped into the Roaring Lamb, a nearby tavern.

With their entrance, some conversation hushed up in the corner, before picking up again with softer voices. The party eyed them, but grabbed a table of their own and put in orders for the lunch special and ales all around.

“Barging into my home, the nerve of those damn nobles,” one of the men could be heard grumbling, voice raising as he went. “Whatever that fucking Sultlue, or them Blackwoods think, he don��t own this city.”

The party made some not at all subtle gesturing to each other, nodding at the other table, and Keros and Grumbar turned to engage. Though the men there seemed wary of them, they were more so enraged with the arrogance of nobles. Sultlue’s men had done more than chase down the assailant. They’d turned over a number of homes in the South Ward to send a message, banging down the doors of innocent folk in search of a ghost.

“Watch ain’t doing shit about it either. I saw nothing. And even if I did? Wouldn’t tell them. Someone wants to go on killing them lords? That’s fine with me.” Having said their piece, the men tossed down some coins on the table and made their leave.

The bartender apologized for the commotion as he cleaned up, commenting that the party didn’t look to be from around here. Things had been tense in the city for a few weeks, if they couldn’t guess, and this was just one more spark in the fire.

Bonu took the lull in business to spark up a casual conversation about the city with the bartender — Nick, as he found out — while the others ate. Nick was sympathetic to the commoners, but didn’t seem quite as likely to aid murderers as the others. As their meal wound down, Grumbar slid a few gold across the table. “If a stranger wanted to learn some things about all of this, where might they look?”

Nick eyed them for a moment and then slid the gold off the counter. “Caravan Court. Might wanna look around dusk there tonight.”

With that in mind, the party thanked him for the meal and drinks and spent the rest of the day canvasing Caravan Court in preparation for what they might find there.

Not wanting to raise suspicions, they waited until dusk had settled to approach the court. By day, it was a gathering space for travel caravans and mercenaries seeking hire. By night, it was usually empty. But a large crowd, armed with torches and the like, had already congregated by time they arrived. Among them were folk they’d met weeks ago in the Copper District.

“They look cheerful,” Greyson muttered, eyeing the improvised weapons.

But their attention was quickly drawn to a young man atop an overturned cart. He was slight of build, dressed in black, and wore a tattered cloak. He would be easily overlooked if not for the inciting speech he was giving to his rapt audience:

“... you toil every day to scrape by. Your friends and family have died for this city. And the Blackwoods lied to you! They claimed to be helping, when it was Bran Blackwood who unleashed the plague upon you in the first place! 

I had friends here in the Copper District, struck down by illness and famine, and they were turned into undead abominations. The rumors are true! I have seen it with my own eyes! Instead of having graves dug for them, their bodies were made to dig a tunnel. Just so Bran could chase faerie tales... 

Will you stand idly by and wait for perhaps another noble house to play with your lives? Will you watch as they steal your mothers, fathers, children, siblings? Or would you rather send a message?

Stand with me and we can avenge our loved ones. Stand with me and we can show we will not be toyed with. Stand with me. TONIGHT, WE WILL STRIKE BACK AND TAKE THE WAR TO THEM! TONIGHT, WE BEGIN THE COPPER REBELLION!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, chanting the name “Zymun” as they stared up at the young man — hardly more than a teen — who had made them a mob.

Realizing nothing about this could go well, the group tried first to get a hold of this Zymun. Unfortunately, he vanished into the gathered crowd, with the aid of a walking stick despite his young age, almost as soon as he’d finished speaking. And with shouts across the court, they watched as the mob quickly started off, taking their rebellion to the nobles in the north.

There was a collectively muttered “shit” and the party started to move.

Bonu, Keros, Grumbar, and Greyson followed them along side streets, hoping they could get ahead of the mob. If they couldn’t stop the crowd, they would likely be torn asunder by the better armed, better trained guards of the city. The people were angry, and rightfully so, but this was not the answer, just another spark for the fire.

Catching a pair of guards along the way, they quickly told them — shouted at them, really — what was happening. They didn’t hang around to see if action was taken, however, still hoping to cut the mob off.

Able to move through the empty streets at full speed, they began to cover more ground. As they neared the City of the Dead, the torch light to their left was matched by torch light up ahead: Captain Kraag Agundar and his men had received word of the unrest.

They’d come to a large square where the Watch had hastily come together to form a wall between the North Ward and the mob. Warnings to turn back or surrender were issued, but the mob was enraged and inspirited. They only yelled louder and raised their torches and weapons higher.

And that was when things went from bad to worse.

Amidst the chaos, Grumbar caught movement coming from the City of the Dead to the east: led by two wights, a group of undead were creeping towards the commotion.

Bonu shouted towards Kraag across the way and aggressively gestured to the undead approaching before going into a rage. Kraag swore and began to start trying to divvy the attentions of his men between both threats, but a surge of water irrupted between the guards and the mob, separating them. There were startled cries from both sides and Keros, focusing on keeping the Water Wall up, turned to the commoners to shout, “You really might want to leave now!”

Noticing the undead already beginning to clash with guards and better armed adventurers, the mob hastily thought better of their mission and took his advice.

The fight was a little messy, but despite a few scares ( and Greyson hanging back from most of the fighting entirely ) they were able to clean up the undead with the help of the guards. One guard was not so lucky as the rest, however, and when the last of the undead were struck down, his comrades went to his aid.

Kraag, who had torn through the wights with gladiatorial ferocity, wiped his blades off as he approached the team. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said, sounding more sincere with them than he had since they’d met. “We’re sending someone down to check the gates to the City of the Dead. There are guards to make sure this kind of thing doesn’t happen. You wanna explain what the hell else was going on here?”

They told him that the mob had been incited by someone and Kraag’s attention sharpened. “The Revolutionary? Zymun, you said? You saw him?” Explaining that they had, but that they hadn’t spoken with him, Kraag swore again. “Ever since the plague, this guy’s been stirring up trouble. But no one is giving him up, we get whispers about this guy. Not fucking surprised he had something to do with this.”

Asking them to keep an eye out for him ( if they were already going to be nosing around for the Blackwoods ), Kraag turned to look down at the corpses in the square. “Gonna have to get these guys back to their tombs,” he muttered, walking off to delegate that unfortunate task elsewhere.

Greyson was already picking through the bodies by time Kraag had turned around. On one of the wights, he held up a strip of rotted fabric with a house crest still emblazoned on it. “Isn’t this the mark of the charmer we met this morning?”

The snake and the sword crest he tore off was indeed the mark of House Sultlue. And on deeper inspection, all of the undead appeared to be from noble houses, though Sultlues were the only wights in the lot.

“Didn’t the undertaker mention snake poison?” Keros piped up.

“And Arboreus is the only one who survived,” Bonu added.

They looked from each other to the undead with a snake coat of arms. Greyson snorted. “Who wants to bet on that coincidence?”

Greyson ( ft. Mac & Gruff the mastiffs ) — “Dwarf.” Thief Rogue. Played by Malfrost.

[qualiteadnd]

Assassin’s Creed: Waterdeep I

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

Nearly two months after fleeing Waterdeep, Keros and the gang receive a letter from Lady Mara Blackwood begging them to return to the city.

Having parted ways with Audulio, the party made their way towards Yartar. The river city was a hub for travelers and information and the party decided to see what ventures they might come across there. A venture, however, was already waiting for them. A courier quickly caught them at the gates with a letter. “Thought you might be the ones,” he said, passing the envelope to Keros. “Not a whole lot of tritons ’round these parts.”

With the letter addressed to the three of them, they crowded around Keros as he broke the wax seal with a familiar tree crest. The letter, in neat script, read:

I hope this finds you in time.

There have been some deaths in the city in the weeks since you’ve left and I grow increasingly worried. An attempt was made on the life of someone in House Blackwood, thankfully we are alright. I know it is much to ask, but you uncovered Bran’s treachery and I can think of no one else to turn to. I have managed to arrange your pardons if you return to Waterdeep, I only hope you do so.

Yours sincerely, Lady Mara Blackwood

Though the concern of this being a ploy for their arrest came up, Keros whole-heartedly trusted that Lady Mara sincerely needed their help. She had, after all, allowed them to escape the first time. So, with some mutterings from their cleric, the party left Yartar almost as soon as they’d arrived and pushed on back towards Waterdeep.

In under a tenday, they found themselves back at Waterdeep’s North Gates. The other travelers filing into the gates were chatty, talking of tensions in the city, crime spikes, and strikes in the Copper District. Hardly encouraged about their return, even with the letter they carried, they attempted to pass the guards with their heads down.

That went about as well as expected.

Pulled aside from the rest of the travelers moving in and out of the city, Keros quickly pulled out Mara’s letter in their defense. The City Watch, however, insisted on escorting them down to the Watch House where they could take it up with the captain. They considered breaking from the guards, but ultimately decided against it and allowed themselves to be led off. Though Bonu and Keros tried to strike up conversation and win favors, their attempts fizzled pretty quickly.

Let into the Watch House, they were ushered into a corner of the building definitely more suited for criminal folks awaiting bail than friendly chats with the local watch captain. Already making himself quite at home there was a dwarvish looking fellow and two dogs roughly as big as himself.

Greyson, as the dwarf introduced himself, was vaguely familiar with this post, though friendly was not really the word he’d choose to describe his relationship with the watchmen here. Still, he waved once when a guard looked over at the motley crew and returned to petting the nearest drooling mastiff: Mac or Gruff, the party couldn’t really tell which was which.

After some small talk and some side eyeing of the dwarf in their company, a half-orc in uniform approached them. Stern and tired, Captain Kraag Agundar was almost less enthused about having the party in his company than they were on being escorted to him. “If Lord Blackwood hadn’t already sent word, I’d have you lot in manacles for the shit you pulled.”

Kraag then walked over to a desk and pulled out several leaflets of paper and aggressively insisted the lot of them, Greyson included, take it and take it to heart. ‘The Laws of Waterdeep’ was emblazoned across the top of the parchment. Keros whistled a bit at the realization of just how many laws they’d tossed to the wayside last time.

“In our defense,” Bonu said, “the guys we killed killed way more people than us.” Kraag was not amused. Greyson simply fed the paper to one of his dogs when no one was looking.

Another watchman hurried in and announced the arrival of Lady Westra and Lady Mara Blackwood moments before the women appeared. Westra, as dignified and cold as ever, didn’t look too pleased to be there, certainly not for the men who had killed her eldest son. Mara, on the other hand, seemed relieved.

Agreeing to take them under her charge — with the threat that a fate worse than prison would await them if they crossed her family again — Lady Westra swept out of the post as quick as she’d come. “Mother is worried,” Mara explained. “Please, there are carriages waiting. I will explain when we have some privacy.”

On their way out, Kraag issued one last warning against breaking the city laws. “I have enough problems right now without you lot.”

Keros promised their best behavior. Again, Kraag was unimpressed. Though Bonu seemed convinced he would come around.

With Greyson assumed to be part of their troupe by the Blackwoods, the dwarf came along with only the barest of invites to do so. Mara and Westra rode off in a carriage ahead of them and the four men and two dogs clambered into a second carriage.

Blackwood Manor was as imposing as they’d left it and the party quickly followed the two nobles inside. Greyson, at least, seemed more interested in the ornamentation of the manor than their reason for being there. Excusing herself from their company, only explaining she had business elsewhere in the city, Westra left Mara and one of their guards to deal with their guests.

Mara hurriedly explained that a string of deaths among the nobles of Waterdeep were beginning to raise some alarm. Although one of the deaths was still being spoken of as a tragic accident, the death that occurred just last night and the attempt on her own house — a poisoned dish that never made it to the table — made Mara believe there was something else to it.

“I, for one, will sleep better knowing someone is looking for the truth. And with the situation in the South Ward what it is now, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone came after our house again.”

“Is there anything you all have in common? A reason why someone might target these houses in particular?” Grumbar asked.

Mara grew visibly tense. “Waterdeep is ruled by the Open Lord and a secret council, the Masked Lords. There are rumors — just rumors — of which houses are part of this council and if you believe those rumors…” She waved her hand in gesture and said no more.

Promising to be the eyes and ears of the Blackwoods in the city, they agreed to look into the deaths. Mara promised a tab would be opened in her name at a nearby inn for them and Grumbar quickly led the charge there. “He’s very eager to plan things,” Keros tried to explain while he and Bonu waited for a written list of the families they should speak to before chasing after the rest of the team.

Grumbar and Greyson were already well into their drinks at the Grinning Lion when Bonu and Keros joined the table. Between them, Keros slapped down the list of nobles that had recently passed under odd circumstances:

Lord Ulb Jardeth, died in his bed almost a month ago.

Lord Ulmassus Phull, broke his neck in a fall little over a tenday ago.

Lord Dulbrawan Anteos II, died in his bed just last night.

Deciding to work their way across the city and visit each grieving family, the group grabbed some lunch at the inn and headed out.

Lord Anteos III was a grieving, frazzled young man when they arrived at the estate. With the very recent loss of his father, he didn’t want to speak more than absolutely necessary. He told them there was no way anyone could have gotten into the room. His father and mother locked the door from within and there was only a window with no way to climb the manor wall without a guard noticing. It had to be an unfortunate accident.

When Grumbar asked if there was anything strange about the body, Lord Anteos grew wary. “Well, there was a mark on his neck that mother found…” Either upset or concerned by this, he excused himself shortly after and they were encouraged to be on their way.

Across town, Lady Jardeth refused to take their company at all. They managed to speak with her house guards and questioned after any strange goings-on prior to the lord’s death. Though they’d noticed nothing unusual, nor had they seen anyone on the estate that night, they did mention that one of the house guards had gone missing. “An elf of some kind,” said one of the guards. “He kept to himself a lot. The lady had hired him maybe a month ago, if that.”

Taking note, the party thanked them for their cooperation and the guards looked the other way just long enough for Bonu to pick a flower from the garden before they left.

Lord Phull was only slightly more accommodating than the others. Though he kept them waiting — and Greyson got a little handsy with some of the less noticeable valuables around the study they waited in — he answered their questions easily. He didn’t believe his father’s death was anything more than it seemed — an accident.

“It’s tragic, of course it is, my father was a good man. Very well liked by the merchants here. But he was older now and it was very dark. He fell, that’s that. Do me a favor, while you’re about, tell that to the damn undertaker. I’d like to bury my father soon.”

Getting only slightly lost on their way to the undertaker’s, they found the man elbow deep in fluids they didn’t really want to question. When they mentioned their position with the Blackwoods, the man made a noise of understanding and ushered them in. His building was lit by arcane means and still managed to be dark and cold, though the cold he asked them to forgive, bodies and all.

“That boy,” he huffed, at the mention of Lord Phull, “should listen to me lest he end up like his father. Fall— A FALL.” He yanked back the sheet on the body of Lord Ulmassus Phull and tipped back the man’s head. Beneath the bruising of his broken neck, there was a faint dark and gangrenous webbing around a pinprick mark. “Does that look like a fall to you? Can’t be certain what kind, but from the reactions? I’d say it’s snake venom.”

Having passed on the lord’s message and thanking him for his time, the group quickly made their way out into the fresh evening air of the Sea Ward. With night fast approaching, they decided to check in with the Blackwoods and pick up in the morning.

“So, Lady Mara was right,” Keros said, as they made their way back.

“Sure. Someone’s killing nobles,” Grumbar agreed, “and it’s not us.”

Greyson ( ft. Mac & Gruff the mastiffs ) — “Dwarf.” Thief Rogue. Played by Malfrost.

[qualiteadnd]

One Small Favor

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

While traveling the countryside, the party is implored by a strange wizard to check in on a bit of land purchased from an even stranger old friend.

The village of Longsaddle was the latest stop for Keros, Bonu, and Grumbar as they tried to figure out what to do now that their plans in Waterdeep had gone belly up. The village was welcoming enough and they chose to spend a night at the inn rather than push on.

While Grumbar drank through a tab with the bar, Keros and Bonu hit it off with a performer by the name of Audulio. He was looking to hit the road and so they offered him a spot in their company to which he readily agreed. Audulio was a free spirit, however, and had trouble sticking with one group for too long. But company, he said, was what made the travels exciting and inspired his tunes.

The next morning, they milled about the Longsaddle market, stocking up on supplies and useless trinkets — namely, a small wooden duck that Keros figured Bonu would appreciate. Just before they were to head out they heard a voice shout, “You there! Yes, you with the bows and axes, come here!”

The statue in the center of the village had animated, to the surprise of literally none of the villagers. Longsaddle, it appeared, was home to a family of eccentric wizards and one of them needed their assistance. Tristan Harpell, as the statue introduced himself, had a job that needed doing and the party of four seemed enough like a trustworthy sort — the wizards were known to be eccentric, not wise. If they could just pop down the way and check on an investment of his, a small favor really, he’d pay them each 200 gold. They all readily agreed.

But with wizards, they’d learn, it was best to read the fine print.

An enchanted piece of parchment that soared towards them from the direction of the Harpell tower and smacked into Grumbar’s face. It flopped into his hands and unfolded itself into an old looking map. Tristan’s scribbling script began to appear before their eyes with the details of their job. The village of Silverleaf that he wanted them to check in on seemed like a three day travel down the main road.

Simple enough, they gathered their things and began to head out when one more surprise came at them. Carter, as the map was called, could speak. And he was quite excited to be assisting the party in assisting his master. If they had any questions at all, he would be happy to help!

The journey was uneventful, but along the way Carter filled in the blanks Tristan had slacked on. Silverleaf was a small village with a strange magical orchard where all the trees had, correct, silver leaves. Tristan had purchased the deed to the land from an old girlfriend of sorts, Freya Doomstaff.

It wasn’t that Tristan didn’t trust Freya, it was just that the deal on the land seemed a little too good to be true and an assistant he’d sent to check on the property hadn’t returned in a week. “So really, it’s so nice of you to be helping Master Harpell like this!”

When they arrived at the village, everything seemed normal enough, even the glittering orchard in the distance. However, it was utterly abandoned.

Some poking around the homes, many of which were left open, led to a smell of rot that permeated from the kitchens. It appeared as though one day all of Silverleaf had simply vanished. A rummage through the kitchens also uncovered a bottle of elvish wine yet uncorked that Grumbar decided to “save” before it too went to waste. Deciding it was best to leave Grumbar to the bottle for the time being, Keros, Bonu, and Audulio pressed on towards the orchard.

Though a little unkempt and definitely more silver than most, the orchard seemed normal enough. That is, except for the weird sparks shooting up from the picnic table like a flare and a hat seemingly abandoned on the path. Keros pushed the gate open and the three went in to investigate.

They got maybe four steps in before being struck by a severe sense of vertigo. And when it cleared, everything was big. Everything except them. The abandoned hat on the orchard path was the size of a large cart and they couldn’t even see the picnic table through the forest of grass.

From beneath the hat, four shrunken bugbears lept at them and a scuffle ensued. Two were taken care of with ease. However, they were not so alone in the orchard and their magics caught the attention of a raven. Unaffected by whatever magic was in the orchard, the bird seemed to be the size of a dragon. They watched in horror and fascination as it grabbed one of the remaining bugbears and swallowed it whole.

“What are you doing out in the open? You’re going to get yourselves killed! Come here, quickly!” From the grass, a tiny elven woman beckoned to them and the trio quickly ran to her as the raven chased down the last of the bugbears.

Saorse, as the elf introduced herself, was glad to see the adventurers. She led them through the maze of grass to an abandoned picnic basket. A twine rope was lowered from the top at her knocking and the four of them climbed inside. The picnic basket had been turned into a sanctuary for shrunken elves, the missing inhabitants of Silverleaf.

The elves were distressed to hear that the entire village had been abandoned, as not everyone could be accounted for in the basket. “We’re farming folk, we care for the orchard, we’re not equipped to deal with this kind of magic. But if you three could find that damn wizard, I bet she could fix this. She was experimenting in the orchard when all of this started.”

After a quick rest with the elves, and hearing more of their complaints of their former-landlord Freya Doomstaff, the party set out again with some guidance from Saorse.

Along the way they found a normal sized ring embedded in the dirt, which they had Carter take note of for later, and avoided the brief rain shower that tried to drown them by diving into a rabbit hole. Refusing to fight the rather territorial mama rabbit within, Audulio cast Sleep on the creature and they huddled at the entrance to wait for the rain to pass before pressing on.

Some echoing singing caught their attention and they followed the source to a tipped over wine bottle. Inside, was a rather soggy and drunk looking human fellow by the name of Darrack Dunhill. “This is Master Harpell’s assistant!” Carter supplied eagerly.

To which Darrack quickly protested, “Oh no –hic– I quit. This is the –hic– last time he nearly gets me –hic– killed. I’m done. A bug tried to eat me last night. A –hic-ing bug!” Deciding the bottle was perhaps a safe place for Darrack for the time being, they quickly left him to his singing and moved on.

Carter’s navigational magic informed them the stream between them and the sparking picnic table had a few options for crossing: the bridge, open and clear, made them easy prey for any watching ravens; a branch precariously reaching across the stream; or they could try to brave the currents with a swim.

Keros, a triton with quite the affinity for water, decided on a fourth option. They found a good sturdy leaf to make a boat out of and he dumped his things in alongside Audulio and Bonu. Finding makeshift paddles, Bonu and Audulio helped to steer the leaf as Keros powered it with some good fish swimming. Two looming frogs tried to make a snack of them, but Keros politely asked the frogs to move along, as they were already having a rough day. The frogs did just that, honoring even a very tiny guardian of the depths.

Shaking off the water, Keros donned the rest of his gear and they proceeded to the picnic table where the white sparks continued to fly. At the top, they found a tiny frazzled, but cheerful wizard: Freya Doomstaff. “Did Tristan send you? I knew he’d get around to it eventually.”

When asked just what in the hells was happening here, she laughed, “It’s all really a very funny story.” Though she had indeed sold Tristan the land to Silverleaf with a clause that stated she would not remove the trees from the ground, she had intended to play a little prank. “I was going to just shrink the whole orchard, you see, and scoop the trees AND the ground right up. But there was a little mistake and well… If you lads could be dears and just go get my arcane focus from that cursed bird, everything will be right as rain.”

Pointing out a nest atop the nearest tree, she explained if they could simply break the orb the raven had stolen, the whole spell would come apart. Though she absolutely refused to go with them, she cast Spiderclimb on all three of them and sent them on their way.

Getting really tired of all this tiny nonsense, the three headed off once more, hoping to reach the nest before the spell wore off. Though they were attacked by a small swarm of wasps along the way, they managed to get by with only minor injuries and leaving a pile of broken wasp wings in their wake.

That left them with the big threat: the dragon sized raven. Deciding to split the party, Audulio and Keros would play distraction while Bonu took care of the orb. Simple, easy, but also likely to get one of them killed. The best kind of plan.

Using shattering magics and tiny, sparking, needle arrows, they managed to make room for Bonu to sprint past the bird and charge the orb. Though things looked a little spicy for a moment and the orb gave Bonu some trouble, he was able to shove it off just in time.

The moment the spell broke the orchard eruptted into chaos.

Audulio, Keros, and Bonu fell out of the tree in a pile and sent the raven screeching into the distance as they reverted to their proper sizes. Across the way, Freya sat giddily on her picnic table, Darrack sat wet and drunk in a tiny wine puddle, and a bunch of elves were in an ungraceful doggy pile, topped with wicker.

Glad to see they’d managed it without looking too worse for wear, Freya snapped her fingers and a silver leaf fluttered down from the canopy in front of each of them with the Doomstaff insignia emblazoned on it. “As a show of thanks, a favor from the Doomstaff family. If you ever need a wizard, look us up.”

And then she was promptly swarmed by enraged wood elves. Laughing still, she told them to take up their complaints with their landlord, Tristan Harpell, and vanished on the spot with little more than a “Toodles!”

Picking up the ring they’d found along the way, the party finally made their own way out of the orchard. They shook off both their drunks — Darrack and Grumbar — and made their way back to Longsaddle, grateful to not be two inches high. ( Having no idea what they were talking about, Grumbar asked if they’d found some wine along the way too. )

Though Tristan was less than pleased, but not surprised, with the news of Freya’s tricks on their return, he rewarded them as promised for their one small favor.

Audulio — Human. Glamour Bard. Played by Malfrost.

Many thanks to DMs Jansen-Parks & Black for crafting this adventure!

[qualiteadnd]

The Plague of Waterdeep II

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

Having discovered the plague to be part of some deeper plot, the three adventurers turn their attention to the noble house at the heart of it.

After wading their way out of the sewers and the catacombs of Waterdeep, the party returned to their inn only to find Rurik waiting for them. The merchant showed them an invitation to Blackwood Manor where Lady Mara was holding a somber gala to appeal to other nobles of the city for aid. Rurik, having been moving his wares into the quarantine and assisting the Blackwoods’ efforts, was invited too.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you might have found something to help the lass. That and I hate these stuffy affairs. Need someone interesting to drink with.”

With the gala set for the next evening, the team had time to rest up and prepare for their trip into the hornet’s nest. Rurik would meet them in the North Ward and introduce them as guests and associates when they reached the manor. It was a simple plan.

Clearly, something would have to go wrong.

On their way to the North Ward, Bonu began to sense they were being watched. Looking around, they could see nothing out of the ordinary, but the feeling didn’t go away. They ducked down a side alley, deciding to change their path and perhaps rethink some things, when a shadowy figure attacked.

Few words were exchanged — least of all proper introductions ( Daerin? Daryl? Daniel? ) — but the elf’s intent was obvious. Keros disarmed him of a poison dagger as Grumbar cast Hold Person. Locked in place, their would be assassin had no where to go as they returned his offer of death threefold.

After searching the body, they found papers — written on Blackwood letterhead — in a secret coat pocket. The Wooden Man, as he was so called, had been hired to deal with a pest problem. The sender signed, in the same sweeping script as the note found in the sewer, only as B. In broad daylight, in the middle of the Trade District, they forced his body into a nearby barrel to cover their tracks, suddenly wary of being seen. The party took the letter, quickly wiped down their weapons, and hurried to catch up with Rurik.

By time they arrived, Blackwood Manor was in full festivities, nothing somber about it. Despite the nature of the gala, the nobles acted as though there was no plague to worry themselves about. Business as usual for the wealthy and well to do of Waterdeep. At a far table with Rurik, they plied the dwarf, and Grumbar, with booze to get the quick and dirty guide to the Blackwoods from the merchant.

Lady Westra Blackwood ruled the house after the death of her husband, Lord Geth. She was fierce and not to be trifled with. With her children still too young to rule, she had taken over the the title and remarried a well off merchant, Kosef. Kosef was good people, according to Rurik, and well meaning. Better with his crossbows and his hunting dogs than with politics, he was made Lord Blackwood in title, though not in practice.

The two could be found at the head table with Lady Westra’s youngest son, Ander. Ander was small, even for his age, and terribly frail and sickly. If the boy could shake whatever ailed him, Ander was destined to inherit his mother’s position as head of the house over his elder siblings, Mara and Bran. Mara was the eldest legitimate child of Westra and Geth, though Bran was the oldest by a few years. A bastard son of Westra’s, born early into her marriage with Geth, Bran had no claim to the title of his prestigious family.

Deciding to take a chance, the party approached the head of the table. Grumbar introduced himself to Lady Westra and Ander as a cleric and a healer. He asked to be allowed to see if his magic might heal Ander or at least offer insight to what ailed him. Lady Westra insisted the best healers were already at their disposal, but at Ander’s insistence, allowed it. The boy was dull-eyed and weak, but full of innocence yet. With what animation he could muster, Ander told the kind cleric and his friends about how nice his siblings had been to him since he’d fallen ill.

Though his healing magic did nothing, a Detect Poison and Disease spell told Grumbar that whatever ailed Ander was eerily similar to the disease in the Copper District. At mention of this, Lady Westra grew agitated and the three wisely retreated.

Over the course of the evening they tried to speak with Bran, but the young man was curt with them, explaining he had been on a hunting trip with Kosef and so had little part in the relief efforts. With few words of parting, he vanished off into the depths of the manor.

Lord Kosef, catching this, told them Bran was always odd like that and to not take either him or his wife’s cold words too much to heart. His wife was simply worried about Ander. And as for Bran, he was always off doing his own thing and “playing with his potions in his room. Boy doesn’t even come out on hunting trips.” Surely though, he meant well.

A small commotion in the courtyard caught Keros’s attention and he stepped away to investigate. Lady Mara herself was trying to disentangle herself from the attention of another young noble who seemed to have trouble taking hints. When Keros tried to present himself as an easy escape, requesting a moment of the lady’s time, the nobleman became both flustered and enraged. He challenged Keros to a duel.

Keros, not one to back down, agreed with a smile and Mara had them both presented with silver rapiers for a best of three. A trained Sword of the Lady, Keros made fast work of his opponent who had clearly never once seen real battle. Though he kept from ruining the man’s reputation outright, the nobleman stormed off without a word, leaving Keros and Mara alone.

Keros apologized for interrupting the party, but she thanked him for coming to her aid. “If only more nobles were as quick with their money as you were with your sword, this party might yet be worth it.” Mara then expressed her deep concern for what would happen if the plague persisted without a cure.

When Keros moved to return the rapier, she insisted he keep it as a sign of her gratitude before they parted with curtsies and bows. Bonu, having watched all of this from afar, commented on the sweetness of chivalry. Grumbar commented on watching a fish blush.

As the evening continued, the group decided there was nothing more they could find through polite interrogation and decided to wait for an opportunity to slip away from the party and explore the manor further. Going down a hall they had seen Bran scamper down earlier, they quickly found themselves ascending the stairs into a closed off wing.

After investigating a private, but unused, study, they soon found a bedroom cluttered with alchemical supplies in the corner. Going through the desk and the drawers, they pulled out blue prints of the Copper District, the sewers, and the City of the Dead. An old drawing of the amulet Keros had found in the tomb was also among the finds. Most damning was a diary detailing Ander’s worsening conditioning.

Thinking they had enough damning evidence to finally start pointing fingers, they were quickly caught by surprise. Rolling up his sleeves in the doorway, Bran Blackwood sneered, “Well, know what they say. If you want something done right, do it yourself. What? Didn’t think I had my room warded? Idiots.”

Having had an impish familiar hiding in the room and watching them from the start, Bran was ready for a fight. With the imp at his side to distract them, the alchemist began to hit hard and fast with eldritch magic, leaving the adventurers with no other choice.

Bonu went into another emotional rage — because how could anyone poison their own brother like that? Keros called on the elements to distract Bran with more blustering gales between arrows. And Grumbar surprised everyone in the room by revealing his shifter heritage in order to shake off the kind of paralyzing magic he himself had been using against their enemies.

Bloodied and battered themselves, it became more and more difficult to keep Bran alive to testify his crimes. No matter how they cornered him, he continued to spit curses, magical and insult alike. He wanted to succeed his mother as he rightfully should. He refused to live in the shadows of Ander and Mara. What were the lives of a few peasants to a Blackwood? If he had gotten his hands on the amulet, no one would question him.

The commotion did not go unnoticed, however. And as Bran choked out his last words, there was a gasp behind them. Lady Mara, it appeared, had witnessed their fight with her half-brother and had been too stunned to react.

“Bran has done terrible things,” she whispered, accepting the evidence and papers that stacked up with what she’d just heard. “I will see to it that his crimes are made known, and perhaps there is a cure in his work to fix what he’s done… But Bran is still of noble blood. I can give you time to leave this city, but that’s all. If you are caught, what good you’ve done here won’t be forgiven so easily.”

Accepting that that course of action was probably for the best — especially given what else had conspired in their efforts to get this far — they agreed to it. She presented them with a small bit of coin to help them out of the city and was surprised when Keros handed over the Blackwood amulet.

“This is… How did… Oh, Bran. What have you been doing? Please. Go. You have my thanks even in this dark time, but you must hurry.”

With brief words of parting, and more bowing from Keros as they went, the three slipped out of Blackwood Manor unseen and quickly made their way towards the North Gates. True to her word, they didn’t hear the alarm at Blackwood Manor until they were safely at the High Road.

And during the commotion in the North Ward, no one paid any mind to a shadowy figure knocking around a certain bloodied barrel in the Trade Ward with his walking stick, least of all three fleeing adventurers.

Over the next few weeks, Keros, Bonu, and Grumbar continued to travel the region together with their ears to the ground. Though no warrant for their arrest ever caught their attention, they did pick up word on the road that Waterdeep’s citizens were recovering.

It was a job well done — bumps, murders, and assassinations aside.

Big shout out to the DMs at Arcana Games who provided the base for this adventure. You inadvertently gave us the jump start for one of our most beloved parties. ( We promise they aren’t always murder hobos. )

[qualiteadnd]

The Plague of Waterdeep I

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

With a rag tag team of adventurers arriving in a Waterdeep thrown into chaos, the only thing for them to do is throw more chaos into the mix.

Keros, Bonu, and Grumbar were an unlikely troupe of travelers who met on the road some weeks prior to their arrival in Waterdeep. Each had their own reason for venturing to the city: Keros, a triton fighter of Selune and the Swords of the Lady, was making his way towards the harbors; Bonu, a barbarian who longed to be a bard, sought out a city where he could find his fame; Grumbar, the drunk cleric of a forgotten god, was not so much on pilgrimage to the city as he was avoiding his past. They were prepared to brave the roads ahead and simply part ways beyond the gates.

They did not.

Instead, on arriving in Waterdeep, they found the famed city in disarray with a deadly plague claiming the lives of its poorest citizens. With the plague confined and quarantined to the Copper District of the South Ward, the city was at a loss. Unwilling to turn a blind eye, and encouraged by the town crier’s promise of reward, the rag tag team knew they had to find the answers Waterdeep could not.

Keros, Bonu, and Grumbar proceeded to spend their first days in Waterdeep poking their noses in where noses were oft unwanted. A watch guard by the name of Hank, though charmed by Bonu’s flirtations, refused them entrance into the quarantined zone. But after helping a dwarven merchant, Rurik Amberforge, get his cart in working order, he agreed to help them move freely through the district with his papers. And so they entered the Copper District.

What they saw there weighed on them: families in mourning and children hungry and weak. The people here were in crisis and not nearly enough was being done.

While most noble houses refused to respond to the tragedy, instead closing their doors on the sickness, House Blackwood stood as a beacon of hope. They offered aid when others refused, an effort largely spearheaded by the eldest daughter, Mara. On entering the Copper District, the travelers watched as the Blackwood guards, donned in the red and black crest of the house, delivered rations and supplies to those struck hardest.

As night began to fall, Grumbar spotted movement through the streets in an area supposedly under curfew. On deeper investigation, they found three half-orcs contaminating the grain supplies of the Copper District. A fight broke out in the square with Bonu cleaving through the half-orcs in an emotional rage. After Grumbar’s Inflict Wounds took down the last of them, the three began to rifle through their things.

Carrying only a scarce bit of copper and silver, the only thing of interest were the bags they’d been dumping into the grainery. Grumbar’s magic quickly detected poison. With a sense that this had something to do with the plague, the trio vacated the scene, leaving the half-orcs and the evidence of their crimes to be found by the guards.

Unsurprisingly, come morning, the South Ward was on high alert.

Only barely keeping their heads down, the team continued to poke around and investigate. What they found was a still constant procession of the dead out of the Copper District, bodies draped over carts and stacked high. They were to be taken to a Mystra temple for cleansing, one guard told them. Instead, they watched as some of the Blackwood guards deviated from the path. Tracking one of these rogue guard pairs, the team waited for them to move down a deserted road and cornered them.

Refusing to answer the party’s not at all subtle questioning, a fight ensued. The guards were quickly outmatched with magic, but refused to accept defeat. One guard fell to Bonu’s axe. The other clutched at his wounds and called for a deal. Before their murder charges could escalate further, Grumbar stopped the man’s bleeding, but demanded answers. He said they were being paid to deliver the bodies this way. They had orders.

He gave them directions to the sewer entrance and watched as Bonu donned his partner’s armor, disguising himself as just another guard — though one in very ill-fitting armor. The team didn’t quite apologize for what they’d done, but they did berate the man about disgracing the uniform.

Taking the cart of bodies with them, Bonu impersonated and bluffed his way into gaining entrance at the sewer. But rather than help unload the bodies once the grate was open, Bonu, Grumbar, and Keros attacked the half-orcs working this end of a bizarre smuggling chain. With the guards out of the way, they ventured deeper inside, following the distant sounds of voices.

At the end of the sewer tunnel, they found a hooded figure speaking to another orc captain. Listening in, they discovered this man’s employer was impatient and that perhaps more deaths in the city were needed to meet his expectations.

As an exchange of coins was being made, Keros shot an arcane arrow into the room, its burst effect catching both men by surprise. In close quarters, the fight was tricky, but they managed to subdue them and keep them from raising an alarm. Folded into the robes of the cloaked figure they found a note. It relayed the rest of the conversation they’d missed, demanding work with the corpses beneath the city be kept up until what they sought was retrieved, signed only by B.

Keros pocketed it and they moved forward.

An inspection of the ramshackle meeting room revealed a hidden archway, behind which undead shambled past. Although the animated corpses paid them no mind and seemed to simply be following given orders. Wary and ready, the team followed the trail out of the sewers and into a roughly constructed, underground tunnel. At the end of which, they found a tomb.

Their presence was quickly detected, however, by the necromancer within. He turned the previously docile corpses against them. “You don’t look sick,” he said, “but I’ll take care of you soon enough. Maybe your corpses will actually get something done around here.”

Listening to him shout orders to the corpses, Grumbar was struck with an idea. He cast Silence on the room and ripped the necromancer of his strongest magics. From there it was almost laughably easy for the team to dispatch the plague corpses and their master. (Keros battering them around the room with gusts of wind didn’t exactly hurt either.)

Taking a minute to look around, it was easy to see the tomb they’d found themselves in was bordering on ancient. It was musty with disuse and only a single, broken coffin at the center of the chamber. On it was a twisting carving of a grand tree with many branches and roots, a symbol they had seen on arriving in the city and one emblazoned across Bonu’s stolen armor.

They had found the ancient resting place of Lord Urth Blackwood, deep within the City of the Dead. Inside his open tomb, Lord Urth, skeletal and thankfully not undead, wore an amulet with the Blackwood crest, still pristine and glimmering in the dust. This, they assumed, must be what B was after if the necromancer had been so set on breaking the tomb open. Keros apologized to Lord Urth and quickly yanked the amulet free for safe keeping.

With more questions then answers, the party at least now knew where to turn their attentions: House Blackwood.