Tag: Skullport Shakedown

Skullport Shakedown: Cagey Bars and Barred Cages

Volo,

Hope you enjoy this piece of limited edition Skull Island prison stationary. It was hard to come by a piece that wasn’t too spattered with blood, gore or spider bile after we cleaned up some of the more distasteful figures here. Really poor decorator, that half-ogre warden. His name was Sundeth, I believe which is – well – was fitting. The wyvern was nice, though. Would not have minded keeping it. Turns out there’s a slaves’ hall on the island here too, which I have’t seen the inside of yet, but I’m keeping it in mind if we need to cause a diversion.

Nary a whisper of your key thus far. We’ve yet to locate the messenger who went missing while carrying it– hence our unexpected prison visit – supposedly the Guild took her here. Beyond that, though, the only reason that it seems not to have arrived on your doorstep as expected, is that the Zhentarim really want to have a word with you. I know. Write a note, why don’t they? Boskynn seems an amiable fellow, and while his festhall is too tame for my aunt’s liking, there may be alignment in it for you if you, like he, want to ensure that Xanathar’s Guild doesn’t get too confident or too powerful. Apparently, they’ve been running around like dogs with two… tails. Yeah. Ways of initiating aside, he seems straightforward when talked to in person.

The supposedly still key-carrying courier we’re here for is of the Bregan d’Aerthe, who seem at least comfortable with the Zhents, but are obviously also out for their own exploits; running a cat and mouse game with the Guild. I expect we’ll set matters up so that they may aid in getting us off this island once we got who and what we came here for. Their repeated prison break experiences should come in handy when it is time for us to go, and they have offered us aid since we’re looking for some of their own. They have these little whistles that really are quite charming. Maybe they know another way off the island too, as the bridge is heavily guarded and the docks are locked away from open water by one of those heavy chains that crack a ship’s hull like a walnut if you sail into it. I’m ruling out swimming as an option on principle.

You may want to anticipate an empty spot in the Skull island prison tower, in any case, as we’ve cleared both that hideous warden and some guards from the board (thank us later?). If you happen to have a pawn who can suck up to Xanathar’s Guild, has a strong stomach and very few scruples, a swift move might land you a nice promotion and some ears on the inside. Bonus points if your candidate has a thing for iron maidens and racks and such, and more if they’re conversant in whatever Drow speak, as there seems to be – a contingent involved here as guards. Nothing too shoddy either: a female mage along with several capable male warriors and (of course) sizable spiders. Interesting to see that they’d rather serve a non-Drow slavers’ gang than work with their blood-kin mercs. Maybe one of them will enlighten me eventually as to why, though so far they seem little for talking and lots for poisoning, which is just so cliche.

Once we get our hands on the courier and her goods, we’ll book it. Maybe lend an ear to talk of nimblewrights as well. They seem to be a clever invention by Drow mages, and could be useful depending on how far their intelligence goes.

Looking forward to hearing your next move.

Hope you enjoy this piece of limited edition Skull Island prison stationary. It was hard to come by a piece that wasn’t too spattered with blood, gore or spider bile after we cleaned up some of the more distasteful figures here. Really poor decorator, that half-ogre warden. His name was Sundeth, I believe which is – well – was fitting. The wyvern was nice, though. Would not have minded keeping it. Turns out there’s a slaves’ hall on the island here too, which I have’t seen the inside of yet, but I’m keeping it in mind if we need to cause a diversion.

Nary a whisper of your key thus far. We’ve yet to locate the messenger who went missing while carrying it– hence our unexpected prison visit – supposedly the Guild took her here. Beyond that, though, the only reason that it seems not to have arrived on your doorstep as expected, is that the Zhentarim really want to have a word with you. I know. Write a note, why don’t they? Boskynn seems an amiable fellow, and while his festhall is too tame for my aunt’s liking, there may be alignment in it for you if you, like he, want to ensure that Xanathar’s Guild doesn’t get too confident or too powerful. Apparently, they’ve been running around like dogs with two… tails. Yeah. Ways of initiating aside, he seems straightforward when talked to in person.

The supposedly still key-carrying courier we’re here for is of the Bregan d’Aerthe, who seem at least comfortable with the Zhents, but are obviously also out for their own exploits; running a cat and mouse game with the Guild. I expect we’ll set matters up so that they may aid in getting us off this island once we got who and what we came here for. Their repeated prison break experiences should come in handy when it is time for us to go, and they have offered us aid since we’re looking for some of their own. They have these little whistles that really are quite charming. Maybe they know another way off the island too, as the bridge is heavily guarded and the docks are locked away from open water by one of those heavy chains that crack a ship’s hull like a walnut if you sail into it. I’m ruling out swimming as an option on principle.

You may want to anticipate an empty spot in the Skull island prison tower, in any case, as we’ve cleared both that hideous warden and some guards from the board (thank us later?). If you happen to have a pawn who can suck up to Xanathar’s Guild, has a strong stomach and very few scruples, a swift move might land you a nice promotion and some ears on the inside. Bonus points if your candidate has a thing for iron maidens and racks and such, and more if they’re conversant in whatever Drow speak, as there seems to be – a contingent involved here as guards. Nothing too shoddy either: a female mage along with several capable male warriors and (of course) sizable spiders. Interesting to see that they’d rather serve a non-Drow slavers’ gang than work with their blood-kin mercs. Maybe one of them will enlighten me eventually as to why, though so far they seem little for talking and lots for poisoning, which is just so cliche.

Once we get our hands on the courier and her goods, we’ll book it. Maybe lend an ear to talk of nimblewrights as well. They seem to be a clever invention by Drow mages, and could be useful depending on how far their intelligence goes.

Looking forward to hearing your next move.

Tio

Skullport Shakedown: One Night in Keel Hall

“Your cloven-hooved friend plays it close to her chest.” Tio smiles and replies. “Sometimes. I wonder how long it’ll last. Her surprises are usually good ones.”

From out of nowhere, Din appears next to the pair of tieflings. “Speak of your elders and betters that way, huh? For shame.” With a wink, she disappears again, either to some dark corner or perhaps to the middle of the revelry in which Elissa holds court; the various guards and patrons of Keel Hall mill around her in a carousel of drink, gambling and shouted challenges.

Damien, off to the side, inclines his head towards the bartender, who grins and reaches under the bar for a small bottle. A single drop falls into a beer stein. The dwarf sinks into his beard with satisfaction.

“So,” Bosskyn says, nudging Tio, “have any theories on why The Guild would be after Drow couriers?” “Hm. No. It even seems early days to conclude that they actually are. Especially if they’ve been playing The Guild for fools by letting themselves get caught on purpose.” Elissa busies herself convincing a trio of the ever-present guards to form a human pyramid and seems to try to cajole Din into being at the top of it. “Though,” Tio continues “if true, I’d say that Cory and the key were bycatch of a hunt for one of those nimblewrights.” “So you have no idea what Volothamp needs that key for?” Tio shakes his head. “None of my business, either.” Boskyn tilts his head. “Really? Not even a tad bit curious?” Tio shrugs, then realizes that Bosskyn can’t see him and makes a noncommittal sound.

Din, having more or less escaped from Elissa’s acrobatic displays and random bursts of flowers which now grace the trio of piled up guards, looks up at the pair. “Of course he is curious. Hells, I’m curious.” She pokes Tio in the thigh. “Trying to play it cool, huh? But I know better. You seemed pretty willing to accept that proposal by… whatstheirfaces… Fel’rekt and Kerbbyg and their little clanky pal.” “Bhinros. From the Bregan d’ Aerthe.” “Yeah, that’un.” “Aaand you were plenty eager to help that nice old lady from the place where you can get your papers all fancy made” Bosskyn guffaws. “I’ll tell Tasselgryn you referred to her and the Poisoned Quill that way.” “As you should.” Din responds, primly, turning a gimlet eye towards the horned Zhentarim, whose eyes are fixed a few inches over her head. “She seemed quite pleasant and proper. And I noticed she was quite good friends with your scaly flying friend.” “Oh, yeah, Zsokia is very fond of her.” Din beams. “Do you think she’d know a place to find a sweet friend like that?” Bosskyn shrugs. “Maybe ask her?” Din sniffs at this unhelpful comment, turns on her heel and walks over to the stool next to Damien.

Soon, a rapid-fire questioning about the domain and history of Loviatar starts, questions high-pitched and clearly audible, answers grumbled, slightly slurred from behind beard and stein.

Elissa rappels down from somewhere near the ceiling on what looks like a decorative piece of rigging, landing on the floor boards with a decided click. “My wife, as per usual, has a point,” she says, staring at both tieflings. “Explain to me what use a glorified thieves’ guild has for religious fanatics?” The satyr seems to almost sway on her hooves, but then recovers. “Yeah, sure, they’re sadists and all, and I am sure torture is, like, both their hobby and half their trade, so why outsource the fun to a bunch of uptight, self-flaggelating godbotherers?

Bosskyn laughs. “Indeed. Not a bad point.” Elissa stares up at him, unimpressed. “We already killed one of them. Him and his fell monster buddies. What even were they. Well, doesn’t matter. Those leather-clad, pale-haired boys said there was a more powerful one up in… Skull keep. Skull castle. That prison thing.” Bosskyn smiles at the satyr. “I’m sure. But do you want to concern yourself with that right this instant, or would you rather try some Luskan sparkle?” Elissa’s eyes light up, but still she says. “I’m not that easily seduced, young man.” “Auntie,” Tio sighs, “I don’t think he’s trying to seduce you.” “Well if he has any sense he’s not. I am very firmly off the market.” “Enjoy the sparkle wine, Auntie. I’m off to bed.” She stamps a small hoof. “Mixing business with pleasure can be very edifying, Tio. You should try it sometime.” She reaches up, pats him on the cheek and moves to the bar with a hop and a skip.

As Tio turns towards the bedrooms, Bosskyn says “Not taking her advice, then, huh?” Tio smiles “To every bird its tune, Bosskyn. That’s hers. I save the revelry for after.” “I’ll remember that. I’d like for you to prosper with your family.” “I’m sure you do. Good night, Bosskyn.”

Skullport Shakedown: Breakfast at Frankie’s

From a crevice high up in the stacked stone wall, a small, beady-eyed face overlooks the room. Its nose twitches above the rolled up slip of paper it holds between its teeth. Then it wriggles its way through, short front paws pushing off against the gray stone. When its long body has cleared the crack, the weasel hops down onto the cluttered surface of the table. It drags the rolled up paper between the open books and instruments until it reaches the edge of the table, where it hops down onto a stool and then the floor. It’s claws skitter on the flagstone as it scurries to the chairs set near the window. Once there, it leaps up onto the wizard’s knee.

Volo exchanges the roll of paper for a piece of dried meat, which gets instantly devoured, then he makes a gesture. Unseen hands unroll the paper a comfortable distance away from his face. While he strokes the weasel that has splayed itself across his lap, he reads. Soon he frowns a little, then he frowns a lot.

Another gesture and the paper rolls back up and moves over to a brazier where it smolders and then lights up before scattering as ashes. A third gesture. With a tiny sound a dragon chess piece moves on one of the two boards at the opposite end of the room.

Volo sighs and looks down at the small familiar in his lap. “You’d think these adventurers would have have better sense, Vamoose.” The weasel chitters in response to its name. “I know”, the wizard continues with raised eyebrows. “Who goes and actually fights a mindflayer? You tell me… Still. They made it this far. It’d be smarter to keep them down there than to send another crew.”

The wizard rises from his chair, Vamoose digging its claws into the bejeweled robes to scamper up to Volo’s shoulder.

***

Frankie looks over the adventurers with some concern as they cross Skull Square and quietly file in through her front door. The dwarf glowers and grumbles and looks greyer-skinned than usual. The satyr and the halfling keep up lighthearted banter, but the tone is just a little too performatively cheerful to sound entirely sincere. The tiefling doesn’t say much at all, and doesn’t meet her eyes or those of his party members.

Well, it’s not the first time she’s helped a few people through a stroke of bad fortune, so she sets to work. A bucket of water from the shared pump in the square, heated over the fire with a few drops of patchouli oil to cover up the coppery smell of blood for them to wash off the worst of the grime. A quick sporeflour batter, fried in clarified goat butter, to serve along with pickled lake eel, lizard eggs and spiced root hash. She even pulls out a bottle of… well. They call it moonshine, but it’s really just the distilled byproduct of the local brewers’. Eye-wateringly sharp and tongue-looseningly strong, even for legit adventurers, she thinks, and so good enough for tonight.

Before the bottle is half-empty, and right as Din rambles through a vivid description of the various traps they dealt with on their way to Mugrub’s killer, a knocking sound reverberates through the room in which the group has spread their bedrolls.

Elissa flicks from view, probably to get a better sightline from the upper floor.

Din draws her rapier and Damien his axe. Frankie opens the door. A scaly, slit-pupiled face looks down at her. “Mistressh Fransheshca”, the dragonborn says “pleashe pash thish on to your houshe gueshtsh.” A large hand with black claws hands over a silk purse.

Before she can so much as ask the Dragonborn’s name, they turn away, using a prehensile tail to pull the door shut against her own grip on the latch.

Damien is the first to speak. “We know that one from the inn.” He exchanges looks with Din, who nods, and Frankie and then with Elissa as she reappears at the top of the stairs. In the silence after that, they look over at Tio, who hasn’t moved. He blinks. Blinks again. Shakes his head. Repeats, in a voice not quite his own: “Track the key. Likely contact: Boskynn, at Keelhaul, Zhentarim haunt. Look out for Drow messenger. Do not mess up again. Gold incoming. Go canny.”

Skullport Shakedown: An Unlikely Cast of Characters

Volo,

You’ll notice we haven’t reported back within the implicitly assumed time frame for your little fetch quest. If you read this and it’s still invisible, we weren’t dead yet a sun’s and moon’s rise ago. At the time of writing we’re not yet topside, but plan to be soon when I get over having my brain leak out of my ears (stop laughing, you fiend – I swear there is a perceivable difference in my performance). “Send” me if you want to adjust scope based on this report, otherwise I’ll see you at Halfway’s soon to wrap up. Do you need an overview of expenses?

Your trinket caught the interest of the magpie-eyed Zhents and has been in their possession roughly since the moment we set foot down here. This by means of a noxious feller of the brain-eating persuasion. Name’s Roxy. He’s been making meals of some of the citizens. Possible opportunity for a clever person to gain a conduit for information down here (see “Frankie” of Skull square), plus perhaps an entry for your next book, should you care to do away with the tentacled parasite. Happy to retry ourselves, if properly compensated but we’d need more firepower and significant hazard pay. Roxy seems remarkbly resistent to both banishment and appeals to morality. The latter is not a surprise. Consider figuring out how he was compelled to act- maybe the Zhents can be moved to get rid of him if he’s lost his use. Likely lower risk and cleaner than extending our contract to include assassination – it’ s not our forte.

Other persons of interest:

Goblin operator of a boxing ring / gambling den called the Batroost, name of Grubbus Pipsnout. Can possibly provide dumb muscle where needed, and has a hand in the local gambling scene (where said Roxy, apparently, had been cleaning out the house). The aunties were willing to pay lil shorty for his information, but my estimation is that he’d not be a hard nut to crack for a minor business advantage. Possibly another good source of intel. Provided the gold to pay for purchase of said trinket.

Madcap necromancer in Deadman’s Corner who makes zombies to have an audience for her conversations with herself. Cheap buy, but picky on payment type. Called Laurel Stillwater. Has a sister? Apparently willing to hold onto sums of gold without much instruction and then hand them off to whoever. Could send a runner by once a week just to ask for the petty cash, I guess.

A victim of Roxy. Orc. Mugrub, or somesuch. Not herself particularly interesting, but she’s the link where Roxy broke his clever little chain of diversion. Mugrub picked up the gold from Zombies-R-Us and went to purchase the trinket from Thimblewines, which Roxy then presumably took off of her when he had her brain for a snack. Tentacle hickies gave him away. Wonder if he tried to hide her murder by killing others, or if hels just hungry a lot.

Crystallene, operator of Thimblewines and an overall delight. Unsure if she knew we would come for the key or if the pickup by Mugrub was what she expected. Did she even know what she had? She knew to sell well, so she must’ve been aware of something. Wonder if she fences other wares, as making a living off of mechanical cockroaches and painted eggs seems unlikely.

Found both guide and initial contact to be performing within parameters. Consider a sweep of the travel route as the slavers and their pet snakes were pesky and you almost lost Gwenson, (who you apparently pay upfront). Asathra is wasted on that inn. Girl is too clever for her own good – that little puzzle of hers almost reduced cuz Damien to tears and drove auntie Elissa to drink.

The Skulls are a pesky lot with not a single sane thought still between them. Please advise on a clothier, as I do think I’d look dashing in a bow tie.

Faithfully,

Tio

Ps. Unicorn from C3 to E4.

Skullport Shakedown: introducing Din and Elissa

20 years ago:

One of the benefits of being all sneaky-sneak is that if someone is after the same mark you are, you hear them coming.
Din had quietly walked over the roofs of the townhouses of this block until she reached the middle house, climbed down to the top window at the back- making sure to not make a single sound with her light halfling step – and then carefully slid the window open and slipped inside. If she didn’t close the window, she’d probably be able to sneak out the same way after she got her hands on the ring. The merchant who owned the house, and technically owned the magic item Din was after – at least for a few more minutes – was away and all the staff were in bed. This should be an easy job, even on her own.
Easy until the owner, an older human man, came bustling in, unexpectedly returning from his travels. The staff rushed out to welcome him home, confused and asking if anything was wrong, but the merchant shrugged them off and sent them back to bed. Then, he walked up the stairs to his chambers – the very same ones Din was hidden in. ‘Fuck fuck fuck’ Din whispered to herself, but then got very quiet. Something sounded off. The sound of the merchant walking up the stairs was wrong. If she didn’t move and held her breath, Din could hear a soft clop-clopping sound instead of the soft thump of shoes on the stairs.
As soon as probably-not-the-merchant stepped into the room and closed the door, Din stepped behind them and pressed her dagger into their back. “I know you are not him. Get out, I’m on a job and I was here first”. Din heard a tinkling laugh filled with genuine joy in response, before the not-merchant whisked around and knocked the dagger out of her hand with their staff. At the same time the tip of the staff sprouted a bunch of daisies. The owner of the staff seemed nearly as surprised as Din at this. “Oooh, flowers, how very romantic, you shouldn’t have!” said Din as she stepped back and grabbed her rapier. The not-merchant laughed again and dropped their human form. Suddenly Din saw a female satyr before her, with a flowery staff in one hand, a sickle in the other, and a wickedly beautiful smile. Well, that explained the clop-clopping sound at least.
“Listen,” said the satyr “I don’t want to fight someone who looks this confident with a rapier. How about we share the loot and leave quietly so we don’t get caught?” Din felt the familiar tingle of magic at the base of their skull, trying to lure her into a false sense of security. Ohhh, this lady was dangerous… With a shake of her head Din resisted the magic, but that gave the satyr just enough time to hit her once with her staff. Ouch. Out of reflex Din tried to jump out of the way and hit a bookshelf. A few books fell, loudly, and stirring noises came from the other floors. Both women froze and waited until all was quiet.
Then Din moved into the satyr’s space, pushed her up against the wall, and held the point of her rapier to the other’s throat. Why did the satyr not stop smiling while she tilted her neck up, Din though. It was distracting. “We’re both going to get killed if we keep fighting. All I’m interested in is the ring, you can have any other loot. But no more hitting or creepy magic or stupid flowers, ok satyr lady? I just want to grab the ring and get out.” The satyr nodded and somehow widened their smile to something just beyond genuine. “Sure, I don’t care about a silly ring, I am just picking up something for Lady Titania. And you can call me Elissa.” After a hesitant nod, Din stepped back, grabbed her dagger off the floor and put her rapier away.
As Elissa rummaged through stacks of papers, Din quickly picked the locks and disassembled the traps of the heavy desk’s drawers, and opened the box the ring was in. It was beautifully inlaid with gems in a flower pattern. “Ohhh, that is pretty. I’ve changed my mind, I want it” said Elissa from just over Din’s shoulder, startling Din enough to nearly drop the ring “What does it do?”. “None of your business” answered Din. “Oh really? Do you want me to hit you with my staff again?” “Yes, because I’m soo scared of some flowers…” Quietly bickering Elissa and Din climb out of the window and up to the roof. Elissa sighs as she looks at the sliver of moon. “I really want that pretty ring though, but you have my word that I won’t use magic to get it. So how about some ale?”
A few years later, Din used that very same ring to propose to Elissa with. She always gets her way in the end.

Skullport Shakedown: Trade Secrets

Eleasis 23, Waterdeep, Dock Ward, The Hanging Lantern

The earliest hint of dawn light falls through the small basement window, filtered through dirt and cobwebs.

The kitchen is still too dark for fine needle work, so a moonlight-haired half-elf in sheer robes lights a squat, four-wicked candle. A steady dripping splishes onto the cracked, glazed tiles in front of her satin slippers.

She sighs.“You’re lucky you arrived when you did. Had you come sooner, you would have had to wait.” Tio frowns. “ A busy night? Tonight? I hadn’t thought it likely.” She nods. “An inland trade delegation.” Tio pulls a single shoulder up. “Guess they’re not here on sheep’s trade” She smiles. “Rough gems. And silver ore. Second grade.” “Will you tell Maradan of the jewelers then? You see her regularly.” “Probably. But first things first. You’re bleeding all over Polly’s floors.”

She reaches over and picks at the kerchief knotted around Tio’s upper arm. “Most people would go to a temple for this sort of thing.” Another one-shouldered shrug from the tiefling. “I prefer going to the seamstresses.” She gives him a look, then moves to kick him playfully. “Hey! Kicking a man when he is down, isn’t that against your religion, or something?” “If you cared about my religion, you should have gone to see a cleric after all.” He sighs, defeated. “Fine. Sorry.” As she unwraps the kerchief, the dripping speeds up. “That looks ugly. Why’d you let yourself get stabbed, dumbass.” “I know Hesper. No need to rub it in.” He slides over a small leather envelope. “Here, it should have needles pre-threaded.” “Did you even clean this before you tied your snotrag around it?” A third one-shouldered shrug. Hesper presses her lips together and moves her fingers in the gesture of a familiar cantrip before flicking open the envelope and picking up a curved needle.

Some time later they sit at a corner of the table, floor and silk slippers cleaned of blood, and a bottle of rum between them. Hesper’s face is more relaxed, and Tio’s a lot less grey. “You planning to spend the night?” “If Polly lets me.” “Hm. We’ve got a new girl, so no empty rooms. But we can share?” “That’d be nice. Old time’s sake, and all.” Hesper snorts at her friend. “Old times. You’re a baby, Tee. Shut your mouth.”

He gives her a smile over his glass. “Got you something, though.” He fishes around in a pocket awkwardly with his left hand before closing his fist on something and holding the closed fist out to her. She opens her hand underneath his and feels a cool weight drop into it. At first sight, it’s a smooth ring, completely unmarked. “Diamond on the inside. Casts Revivify when the wearer needs it.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Never in a hundred years could you afford that.” He shakes his head. “Was a smuggler who could, though. She didn’t deserve to have it.” “You’re kidding.” “Wish I was. If it was just contraband, I’d have let it slide. But you know what the laws are like down south, and she was shipping people. Not even just prisoners either.” “Fuck.” “Yeah.”

“Are you sure you want to take more jobs from this new patron of yours? You landed here for two out of three. He throws you at dangerous people.” Tio looks down at the table. “It’s better than the jobs for the gambling halls. That’s squeezing people with problems for gold they don’t have.” “You almost sound like an altruist.” He gives her a lopsided smile. “Pay is better. Equipment too. And that ring really has a clever enchantment. It doesn’t go off if you lose the finger it’s on.” “Okay, still not an altruist then.” “Well, I did give you that ring.” Hesper shakes her head, blows out the candle and grabs her friend by the uninjured arm. “Time for bed.”

Early that afternoon, as the Lantern’s staff stumbles out of bed and assembles over platters of hotcakes, cream and preserves, Hesper presses on. “You keep taking jobs like this, you need access to a real healer. This’ll scar and get stiff. You’re more likely to get injured again.” “Hesp, I swear, none of those god-botherers want to be seen anywhere near hellspawn like me. You know how it is.” “Bullshit, Tee, you’re bigoted.” “You can’t be a bigot about other people’s opinions.” “You know what I mean.”

From across the long trestle table, kohl-rimmed dwarven eyes stare at the tiefling and his friend. “My brother Damien would help you, as long as you didn’t, like, sacrifice to Asmodeus in front of him.” Tio arches an eyebrow. “Graz’zt, actually. Great-great-grandmother was a daughter of his.” Now Hesper really does kick him. He winces. “The little shit means to say he’s interested, and would like to know where to find your brother. Don’t believe him if he ever tells you that this ancestor was a princess, either. All tieflings claim a “princess” as their evil ancestor. Pretentious twerps, the lot.” Tio rolls his eyes. “Sure. Whatever she says. I’m Tio. Pleased to meet you, new girl.” “It’s Ingfrid. And my brother Damien lives at the sanctuary of Chauntea.” “Hm.” “You should go see him.”

The next time Tio shows up to see Hesper, he speaks of a new friend. And he didn’t bleed all over Polly’s old store room.

Skullport Shakedown: Moving Pieces

Flamerule 1 (Founder’s Day), Waterdeep, Halfway Inn, Brother’s Barkeeper Charity Chess Tournament

A carefully manicured hand with glassy nails moved to the earth level of the dragon chess board and nudged a white warrior piece forward. “So, how are the book sales these days?”

The human wizard smiled at his opponent and moved a black basilisk piece on the lower level. “Not bad, really. There was that… unfortunate happenstance at the docks some time back, which caused a modest increase in demand.”

A soft chuckle and another white warrior slides gently forward. “One orc’s death is another orc’s breath, I do suppose.”

He cocks an eyebrow as the black sylph finds a new home on the upper level of the board. “That’s a more poetic translation than I usually hear. Not a common proverb either. Do you count the orcs among your friends?”

A smile reveals slightly pointed teeth. “There are many orcs. Certainly a few would consider me such.” A third white warrior moves. “One caravan master told me that whenever she and I go out on the town, she has a very wicked time.” Bright red eyes crinkle at the pun.

Volothamp considers his options. The tiefling who drew lots against him doesn’t seem overly concerned with the moves he had made thus far, and he had preferred a standard opening sequence. Maybe he could pull off the Stone Thief’s Mate. It would be a quick way out. He positions the black dwarf in preparation. No alarm shows on the face at the other side of the table. An amateur then, most likely. “Wicked, no less.” he says, “That’s something, from those who drink fermented warg’s milk with their morning porridge.”

They pick up the pace of their play. White Oliphant. Second black Basilisk. White unicorn. Volothamp makes his penultimate move, nudging the black Sylph forward again, face neutral.

His opponent’s head dips, tipping a dark curl forward from behind a slim, pale antler. “Fermented warg’s milk…” he shudders. “Personally I prefer southern brandy. Even the product of our beloved local Chauntea sanctuary, which is probably just distilled novice sweat, is vastly superior to that.” Eyes still down, the tiefling lifts his hand towards the middle board, then pauses, sending a pupilless glance up from under curls and eyebrows. “That said. A drink?” He pulls out the Paladin piece and drops it to the lower board, beckoning over one of the ale boys with his free hand.

Time to recalculate. The Paladin’s Counter wasn’t the strongest response to his manoeuvre, but it was a clever one. Effective. Profoundly noncommittal in response to his own decisiveness. Held until the last possible moment, too. He stretched in his seat. This could yet be an interesting game.

Two glasses of brandy later, with the game’s end a decently engaging victory, Volo finds himself lingering at the bar to await the drawings for the third round of the tournament. The slight tiefling leans back beside him, a booted leg stretched out into the walkway. “Shame to find such a strong opponent this early on. I could have used the prize money.”

The wizard smiles. “This is where I might offer to keep an ear to the ground for any interesting opportunities. However, knowing neither your name nor your trade, I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Yourself too, perhaps, if it turns out we could be of use to one another.”

The tiefling extends a hand. “Tio. Sometimes I work with local guilds to follow up on accounts. See if things can’t be resolved… harmoniously. Beyond that, well, it is said that I like to entertain.”