|
|
Post by sojourn on Dec 3, 2019 2:50:32 GMT
Spring 1490 SOMEWHERE BENEATH the Trade Ward | AFTERNOON What Happened Before:
Weeks of rumors of disappearing copper coins eventually came to a head when the City Watch began to hang signs instructing the citizens of the City of Splendors on how to actually spend their own money. As if that wasn't enough, however, the homeless and dispossessed, the beggars and the poor, soon found themselves instructed to leave the city altogether—the Masked Lords themselves decreed their banishment!
Caught up in one of these mass arrests, our heroes managed to assist in the freeing of (mostly but also probably occasionally questionable) innocents, only to be swept away by the tide of the crowd in hopes of avoiding arrest once reinforcements arrived.
Instead of outside Waterdeep's walls, however, our friends found themselves below it instead ...
in the sewers. Ew. W hatever came of the arrests and near-riot above was soon lost not simply into the steamy, moist darkness below Waterdeep but also overwhelmed by the unavoidable and rather particular odor of what the City of Splendor's citizens (literally) left behind. Whether led by the hand of a child or by the beckoning of an old man or by the press of a fleeing crowd, everyone was swept like so much refuse below the cobblestones and into the muffled, watery calm of the sewers.Some of the crowd dispersed immediately as if they knew exactly where they were going. A few others hovered, fretting by the grates and various entrances, nervous and afraid. A few struck off on their own adventures, undaunted by the strange odors and darkness. Lit by dappled sunlight from the occasional grate above or mysterious crack, everyone would find themselves led through several tunnels and crossways, mostly along ledges and wooden well-built walkways. It would feels as though their guides doubled back a few times or purposefully chose confusing paths as if perhaps they had an actual destination in mind that they didn't actually want strangers to learn. Eventually, everyone would find themselves led down a steep incline—so steep and slippery that it is very difficult to stay upright in a few places. The slope gives way to carefully carved stairs, a moment of utter darkness, and then the ruddy glow of flame.The smell of food, sweat, and burning wood obscures the sewer’s stench everyone suffered under just a moment ago. Suddenly in a surprisingly dry part of the sewers—almost an antechamber of sorts—a dozen or so people crowd the room, eating, drinking, and laughing. Tallow candles bathe the sanctuary in a cozy light and those who had once been guides disperse, seemingly right at home. An angry looking dwarf who stands guard at a door across the room narrows his eyes at all the new faces and beckons all of you closer with a wave of his hammer.Note:
You're welcome to describe your strange, convoluted journey through the sewers however you like. Please make a Perception Check at DC16 (unless your passive perc is 16 in which case you notice anyway) for your reply to catch sight of symbols painted or carved into the sewer walls while being led that give clues toward the hideout you have been led to. Your guides will not give you any clues other than promise they are taking you somewhere safe, so feel free to write that however you wish.
If you strike up a conversation with your guide, they will talk about how they feel like this place under the sewers is safe and how they hope Dax will build them a new home soon, but they are unwilling to give any details about who this Dax is other than to paint him as a hero. |
|
|
|
Post by sojourn on Dec 3, 2019 2:53:20 GMT
K ieran was, fortunately or unfortunately, not unfamiliar with the sewers beneath Waterdeep in general, though he certainly didn't know where he was going beneath the Trade Ward. Following the young boy who was eager and hopeful to be reunited with his mother, the half-drow trudged willingly alongside the chattering thing and pretended that his little voice made up for the nauseating stench,
"My ma taught me the way. Don't worry, mister." The boy promised, running grubby fingers along the wall as they turned a corner, the motion just enough to catch Kieran's attention. His violet gaze skimmed over mossy, wet stone, and he couldn't help but notice a few curious symbols carved in an obscure spot.
"Th' way where?"
"Home."
"Y' live down here?"
"It's safer than th' surface—for now. Dax has promised t' build us somethin' outta the sewers soon, though."
"Who has? Dax wha—"
"You'll see."
Arching a pale brow and tugging his cowl further over the lower half of his face, feeling the oppressive humidity attempt to crawl into his very pores, he began to take note of where the child turned and how often the child doubled back as if to confuse him, finding it difficult to keep his comments to himself. Just when he thought to call the young thing out on his shenanigans, Kieran was surprised to find himself slipping and stepping downward. Down, down, almost falling with a few particularly juicy Undercommon swears, the half-drow followed the boy, jealous at the boy's practiced ease making his way down.
Slope became stairs. Stairs became a hall. The hall opened into what appeared to be a dry, safe encampment. It smelled less of refuse and more of people, and Kieran stood in the middle of the room in utter surprise, not even noticing the boy slip away and scurry toward the young woman holding her arms open to him—
"Ma!"
"Well, shi—oh." Grateful for familiar faces, the half-drow was both interested in what any of this meant alongside the coin shortage and in who this Dax was with all his lofty promises. There was a rather impatient looking dwarf giving him the stink eye, and the tattooed monk smirked, making a point to ignore him for a few moments to take in the rest of the room instead, Kieran admitted to no one in particular,
"I wasn't expectin' this."
|
|
Jarovbees
Approved
Playing: Solstice (Paladin 6)/Umbrae (Sorcerer 1/Warlock 4)/Avren Wands (Rogue 2/Sorcerer 1)
Posts: 706
|
Post by Jarovbees on Dec 3, 2019 4:20:50 GMT
1dCWqacZ1d20+3
1d20+3
|
|
Jarovbees
Approved
Playing: Solstice (Paladin 6)/Umbrae (Sorcerer 1/Warlock 4)/Avren Wands (Rogue 2/Sorcerer 1)
Posts: 706
|
Post by Jarovbees on Dec 3, 2019 4:28:11 GMT
Umbrae hadn't intended to be involved in any of this...and yet, here she was, being pulled along by an ancient-looking woman with gnarled hands but a great deal more energy than she would have previously thought for someone of that age. She barely had a chance to register the eruption of chaos, not even certain what it was about and just trying to return to her inn to finish inscribing new rituals. And she had been so close, that she could smell and nearly taste the almond croissants than the inn offered. So close...and then her peaceful day vanished abruptly, like a soap bubble.
The young woman would have sighed mournfully, if the sudden chaos hadn't rattled her so much that she was constantly peering over her shoulder, worried about pursuit. She hadn't done anything to draw attention or ire, but had a feeling that the city guard were of a mind to arrest anyone based only on proximity and that thought quickened her steps. A sewer was far less intimidating to her than running afoul of those who could put her away, when freedom was still so novel and precious to her. Still, if it was freedom or death...no, she wasn't willing to die for it. Surviving to fight -or escape- another day always appealed to her far more than making any kind of stand.
"Please, where are we going? I just want to get back to my inn--"
"If it was anywhere near us, you're better off below. Trust me, dearie. Don't worry, I'll take you home."
"Home...?" Umbrae frowned in confusion, drawing her cloak a little tighter around herself with her free hand. "You live here?"
"Around here, aye. Don't worry, Dax will keep us safe. He always does."
She noted the fondness in the old woman's voice, and tried to recall if she'd ever heard that name before...but no, nothing. "Dax? Who is he?"
"Oh, you'll soon see. Less talking, more walking!"
Umbrae, trying to make out the details of the sewers as they passed, couldn't quite make out anything of note as she was hurried along so vigorously. Eventually, she gave up trying and just hoped that answers would be forthcoming, one way or another. She tried to keep track of their route, but the old woman doubled back or took such confusing route that Umbrae was pretty certain she couldn't begin to recreate it all. And yet, she was oddly reassured. Anything this complicated would throw the guards off, for certain.
The steep, slippery incline made her nervous all over again -her boots weren't made for this- and Umbrae fought to keep a hold on both her balance and nerves. Thanks to the old woman's presence and experience, she persevered long enough to leave the stench of the sewers behind as they arrived at the antechamber. Umbrae peered around owlishly, barely absorbing it all before the dwarf beckoned and the old woman gently nudged her along. "Go on, lass."
|
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Dec 3, 2019 7:43:12 GMT
ww2a9Sid1d20+31d20+3
|
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Dec 3, 2019 9:40:03 GMT
"What in Eldath's green plains made you think joinin' a riot was a fun thing to do?" The question echoed along the damp pathway, and its light, amused lilt was overshadowed by heavy footsteps and clumsy raps against stone. Despite the nature of the question, it was posed with genuine curiosity--and the tiniest smidgen of amusement, threatening to burst into a good-natured laugh. The light from an overhead grate revealed a woman, wearing a rumpled dress below a stained apron which looked like it had seen better days. She was smiling, cheeks pink from exertion, and her light blonde hair escaped from their long, back-length braid in thin, wispy strands. A basket covered with a piece of cloth dangled on the crook of her elbow. "I thought we were out for a friendly stroll?"
"A philosopher always seeks to expand his horizons, Miss Fairloom!" The reply was loud and impassioned, and although it lacked real heat it was exclaimed at a high enough volume to merit a shush from a third companion. A bespectacled man hobbled on crutches after the first individual, and he was dressed in the long, formless robes oft sported by the academics in Waterdeep. At least, he would be if he didn't have one leg strapped straight--part of the robe was pinned up, exposing the injured limb, which had been set some weeks ago. After a short period of silence, the voice--possessing an inflection that spoke of higher education and an equally tall ego--continued on. "This convoluted matter with the copper coins, the growing bias against the poor... even that incident at the Sea Ward, the one at that extravagant temple! I daresay it's all connected. I can feel it in my bones. Don't tell me it doesn't make any sense!"
"With all due respect, Belerick, what don't make a lick of sense is you thinkin' you could throw a peach at that guard without any consequence." Rosemary smiled, but her eyes were on the walls, noticing the symbols etched onto the stone. Have they been going around in circles?
"Ah, the law!" If words could coil in distaste, Belerick's words would have been springs. "Those swords would bark at perceived threats to the Masked Lords, justified or not! But, ah, I suppose we were lucky to have met you when we did... ah, what was your name ag--AAAAAGH!"
Cue an obnoxiously pronounced noise as a certain someone tripped and slid down a sudden decline. After a couple of minutes punctuated by loud cursing, a soft glow pierced through the gloom leading to the unusual chamber, and the noisy duo finally arrived at their mysterious destination. Rosemary looked down at the child who led them to this place, confused, and the orb of light above her palm sputtered out. "Dear me. Where are we?"
"A safe place! But Dax said we're going someplace grander, you know!" The boy grinned and handed back Belerick's discarded crutches, and Rosie forgot her next question when she reached out to balance her basket and keep those from dropping to the floor. Unfortunately for her, the philosopher propped up by her side was too busy gawking at the gathering to be of much help. "A hidden alcove in the underbelly of the city? This is a novel idea!"
The dwarf's iron glare finally caught Rosemary's attention. She had to do a double-take to ascertain that it was meant for her. When she was sure that yes, he was giving her the stink-eye, the cleric guided her friend to a stool and told him to stay put, then adjusted her basket and began to walk over to the grumpy stranger.
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Dec 3, 2019 22:34:24 GMT
Miri's perception: 2grD_DHD1d20+3
The little girl who’d whispered in her ear was smiling, her fingers entangled in Miri’s as she led her deeper and deeper into the sewers. Miri had tried, once, to tug her hand out of the girl’s grasp, but there was some mysterious, sticky substance on the girl’s hand, and it had repeatedly foiled her efforts.
The girl sang as they walked, a warbling, high-pitched song that veered off occasionally into the sort of upper registers vaguely reminiscent of a dog whistle. “Ring-a-round-a-rosies, a pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Dax has sent his daughter, to fetch a pail of water, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Dax is on the steeple, singing to the people, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”
“Darling,” Miri said through gritted teeth, her hangover throbbing mercilessly in her head, as if someone had driven a polearm straight through the center of her skull. “That is just – just a lovely song,” she tugged at her hand again, and the little girl seemed to squeeze tighter. Miri squeezed her eyes shut, nearly tripped, and kept walking. “Could you – could you maybe – “
“The temple bells are ringing, Dax’s boys and girls are singing, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” The girl finished, triumphant and thoroughly uneven.
“Lovely,” Miri gritted her teeth tighter, head throbbing. “Just – great. You’re done now, right?”
The girl glanced back over at her, snot dripping from her nose, gave Miri an enormous gap-toothed grin, and began again. “Ring-a-round-a-rosies, a pocket full of posies…”
Miri groaned aloud, and continued to follow after the girl, one ear pressed into her shoulder and the other covered by her free hand.
The little girl quieted, finally, as they made their way down a narrow steep incline. Somehow, reluctantly, Miri found herself with the girl balanced on her back, grumbling quietly to herself as she navigated down the slope. The girl made no effort to get loose, thin little arms gripped around Miri’s back.
“I hate children,” Miri grumbled, barely audible, as she adjusted the girl’s weight. There was pure darkness for a moment, and then a glow of flame, sending another sharp pang of pain. Her stomach growled, hunger briefly winning the battle against nausea, and Miri sighed, audibly.
“All right.” Miri said, shrugging her shoulders as forcefully as she could. The little girl giggled, directly in her ear, and held on tighter.
“No,” Miri said, squirming. “Come on, isn’t this home?”
“I want to stay with you,” said a sticky, high-pitched, childish voice.
“Nope,” Miri said. She grabbed hold of small hands, and did her best to pry them apart. “Nope, nope, nope.”
The little girl let go, and dropped to the floor. Miri froze, turning to look down, wide-eyed, only to see the little girl already laughing and scampering off to a group of adults.
“Oh thank Selune,” Miri whispered, kissing her wrist for luck. She straightened up, looked everywhere but at Kieran, and sauntered over towards the guards, hands in her pockets, the very picture of casual.
1d20+3
|
|
|
|
Post by sojourn on Dec 7, 2019 5:09:08 GMT
I f Kieran was confused by the familiar faces that had ended up under Waterdeep with him, well, it didn't show on his charcoal-carved features whatsoever. If anything, there was the faintest hit of amusement at Miri's most unfortunate struggles, the half-drow quite suspect of the special kind of torture she'd so obviously endured. That was, however, where any form of empathy ended, considering she'd hardly made eye-contact with him since accidentally finding themselves in the same place at the same time. Instead, his violet-gazed attention drifted to the dark-haired woman he was certain he'd not seen among the crowd until just now and then to Rosie, who he knew already from the Dock Ward offering them both a wave.
Had they all just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Or was this the right place after all?
The dwarf near the makeshift door (one apparently made of several pieces of salvaged wood by poor carpenters) at the opposite end of the musty, low-ceilinged common room watched the newcomers warily, clearly separating them from the beggars and other displaced citizens that called this place home on sight. Even if Kieran had grown up on the streets, perhaps he no longer carried himself in quite the same way as he had in his youth, discipline and training having replaced desperation and deviance.
He offered the three women a roll of his shoulders in a shrug, "I s'pose there's not much choice." While the gathered bodies in the common room certainly didn't feel threatening, they weren't warmly welcomed either.
Making his way toward the stout fellow with the impressive hammer whether he was followed or not by anyone else, the half-drow met the dwarf with a smile even if he didn't quite feel the expression on the inside. Pausing for a moment, tongue against the ring through his lip as if preparing to speak, the shorter man spoke first,
"Ooi, I'm Horn. All newcomers 'r supposed ta speak with Lylah. I'll take ya there now, though I hope I don't hafta bloody mah hammer today. C'mon." The dark-haired dwarf studied the four strangers with steely grey eyes, obviously built in such a way as to make it obvious he could make good on his threat. With a grunt, he turned and opened the door, which creaked and sighed and hardly looked protective at all.
"Watch yer heads." He grumbled, for the next passage was barely six feet in height. The stonework looked older, stained less with centuries of offal and more with centuries of moist, abandoned age. Wherever this little hideout had been built in, it wasn't the sewers proper.
Leading the way through the hall, which was wide enough for two people to travel side by side and lit with an occasional torch on the wall, sputtering and warm, the smell of cooking drifted from somewhere and the sound of music and a crowd of childish laughter from another.
Knocking on another door, Horn stopped the group with a meaty raised hand.
"Enter." Came a distracted-sounding voice.
Nodding, Horn opened the door and waved the others into a small room dominated by a bookshelf filled with several ledgers, a crowded writing desk, and several crumpled pieces of parchment all over the floor. The only chair in the small office was occupied by a young elvish woman who didn't even bother to look up from whatever calculation she appeared to be buried under,
"Dax predicted that sooner or later, armed people would arrive." Lylah sighed almost impatiently, setting a few papers aside and finally studying the four arrivals, "We're a peaceful community, but we're grateful for your assistance with the City Watch. I can offer you a warm meal, but for anything else? You'll have to talk to Dax—especially if you're here to stir up dust."
Kieran frowned at the strange mix of gratitude and dismissal, brow drawing together in concern as he crossed arms over his chest, "Y'know that now th' City Watch has a taste 'f resistance from—uh—from whatever th' hells this is. Who's Dax, anyway?"
Horn chuckled from the doorway.
Lylah's smile warmed in a fashion that implied her feelings for the name were more than merely professional in nature, as if she had an almost childish endearment for the subject,
"Who wants to know?"
The half-drow once again thought to speak, to introduce himself, only for the elf to wave a hand at him and gesture slim fingers in the direction of the others with him, "Not you. Your face I know." She hummed cryptically but gave no further information, "But them. You may have saved your own hides out there without a care in Faerûn for the others—in which case, whoever Dax is none of your business. If you're not entirely a fan of how the Lords keep their Watch or how this City of Splendors gilds over its downtrodden, then perhaps I can arrange an introduction."
Quite sure she was glossing over things with a wide-bristled brush, Kieran hid his confusion and waited for the others to at least give their own names, if nothing else. |
|
Jarovbees
Approved
Playing: Solstice (Paladin 6)/Umbrae (Sorcerer 1/Warlock 4)/Avren Wands (Rogue 2/Sorcerer 1)
Posts: 706
|
Post by Jarovbees on Dec 7, 2019 15:30:33 GMT
Umbrae barely had time to wave in response to the half-drow, her movement a bit tentative as she was still overwhelmed by everything that had happened. She listened to the dwarf assess them, too confused to take any offense at what was said, for now. The possible threat had her slipping a hand down to the rod at her hip, though she didn't draw it out; she wasn't stupid, and knew better than to provoke a fight when surrounded. Even so, touching it was the reminder that she needed, that she was not helpless. She didn't want to use any of that power against the people here, though, and hopefully that wouldn't be necessary. Hopefully.
She followed along, mismatched eyes taking in everything; the sound of music and childlish laughter confused her, and she didn't visibly relax upon hearing such. These people seemed very eager to keep a hold on what they had, and she knew that could lead to them fighting fiercely to defend it. Not that she meant them ill -she barely just met them- but it was something to ponder. She almost sympathized, in her way; what little was her own, she would fiercely defend as well.
Hanging back, she eyed Lylah silently while the woman spoke. She nodded at the offer, though was more interested in the answer about Dax. The old woman had spoken about him, too, and fondly. No, more than that. Almost reverent. He was clearly important to these people, something of a savior? Umbrae didn't entirely trust that the reputation would hold up, but she knew better than to say that aloud. Her expression grew thoughtful, as she considered her own feelings on the City of Splendors. Ever since her own arrival, she had been focused on settling in and learning what she could. She hadn't considered the perspective that Lylah was now offering.
As eyes fell on her, she cleared her throat nervously and averted her gaze. Her voice was tight and quiet, barely carrying. "My name is Umbrae...."
|
|
|
|
Post by Skell on Dec 10, 2019 15:03:33 GMT
Rolling for Perception: |oV5pze01d20+11d20+1
|
|
|
|
Post by Skell on Dec 10, 2019 16:41:28 GMT
The old man turned to an iron ring and pushed the entrance to the sewers open. Under the myriad of voices and the sound of hurried steps they made their way to bowels of The City of Splendors. Dark and damp, the place did smell the part. Were Ilar not used to the strong odors of some alchemical components he would have been nauseated.
“Don’t worry about your friend.” Said the old man while moving in the dark tunnels. He was a small human, dressed mainly in rags and with a long dirt beard. His hair was a tangled mess and covered most of his back. He moved surprisingly fast, and with a precision that Ilar would not expect of him in under so little light. “You who helped will all be brought to the same place.”
And what that place would that be? Ilar wanted to ask but he knew that no real answer would be given. He was guided in his attempt to run away from the City Guard. Whatever place could offer safety in this situation would be, to put it gently, in less than good terms with the law. Any relevant detail would not be given simply because someone that made some good deed asked well mannered. He would need to trust in his eyes to notice something. A task that the old man seemed determined to make as hard as possible.
They walked in circles for what could have been hours, or minutes. The notion made Ilar think of how terrifying it was for the Draven of the first generation to run away in the Underdark, never knowing how much time was between them and their pursuers. Maybe they had a way to track time, he pondered. The Drow society existed mostly in the Middledark, where there was no sun to be seen, and with their rites and organizations it would be unreal to think they did not have some sort of manner to track the hours. The question is, did slaves learned do to do this? He could not know.
Soon their way start descending, first in a slide, then on a stair. At the end of it tents, bonfires and people, a camp waited. Ilar’s first reaction was to stop, close his eyes and take a deep breath. To anyone it would seem like he was feeling relieve in the end of his escape but in fact the Warlock was sliding on the skin of his familiar. The briefest of moments was enough for him telepathically know that Hyde failed in finding the woman that the guards separated from her child. Discouraged he opened his eyes, looking for the brass scaled dragonborn. No success in that either.
At the entrance there was a dwarf that armed with a warhammer seemed to serve as guard of that place. With a wave of his weapon him called the newcomers. It was then that Ilar heard the voice of the boy finding his mother. At least something went right, he thought while another half-drow admitted how unexpected all of that was. He was shorter than Ilar, had piercings over his face, violet eyes and pure white hair. He didn’t wait long to walk to the dwarf that anticipating any question gave his name and explained to where he would guide the unfamiliar group - to see someone called Lylah.
Horn, the dwarf, knocked at the door and a woman’s voice answered telling them to enter. The room was an office, full of parchments and ledgers. Lylah started talking about her leader, Dax, and his predictions when the other half-drow interrupted, giving voice to the thought that should be in their minds. The answer was a question in itself. You want to keep fighting for the weak or take care of your life? Ilar didn’t want to compromise to a fight against the Masked Lords, but there was no guarantee that anyone would be allowed to leave that place. The location of the hideout could be easily compromised if even one of them returned to the surface and spoke to the Watch. In a war that was reason enough to kill.
“My name is Ilar and up there I felt that if I remained silent while all of that happened despite being able to help, even if a little, I would be an accomplice of that decree. Of that madness.” He spoke deciding that to ally himself with Dax was the safer choice. “My family is not always accounted amongst the welcomed so I could not stomach the notion. Still can’t.”
|
|
|
|
Post by pastels on Jan 5, 2020 11:45:10 GMT
“Oh, Kieran! Hello! What are you doin’ here? And boy, were you in that riot too? You’re not hurt or anythin’, are you?” In the short span of time since their eyes met, Rosemary had managed to squeeze in a spectacular amount of words in a breath as she closed the distance, free hand raised in answered greeting. Before any catching up could be done though, the gruff dwarf—Horn—addressed the room, and seeing that only a handful of individuals reacted, the cleric followed her half-drow acquaintance into the cramped passage. Her words clattered against the damp stone, the narrow space in effect making it seem as if she had cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled. “Goodness, this door reminds me of the clinic. Ooh, watch your step, sir. Don’t want you trippin’ over that big hammer of yours.” That last part was said with disarming sincerity; Belerick entered this place through stumbling over his crutches, and Rosemary was worried about a repeat performance.
Soon, they were ushered into yet another tiny room, this one set up to be a study of sorts. At the middle of it all… Laylah? Rosemary’s hand hovered self-consciously over her strapped mace when weapons were mentioned. She only brought it along as a daily precaution… not as a violent mischief-makin’ rogue which this figure seemed to be expecting. What was happening? She was no genius, but from the scraps of information she could gather, a blurry image began to form: these folks were involved in the riots that had been on everyone’s tongues, and they seemed to be led by this Dax. Look. If he took care of “his” people half as good as they think he’s doing… There’s no problem with that. Also… they knew Kieran? Odd, that, but who was she to ask?
“Oh, that’s true, they could do a bit more helpin’ around the Dock—er, I mean, hello. Name’s Rosemary Fairloom!” The healer offered a warm smile and another wave to everyone in the room, as if addressing old friends. “Call me Rosie. Um. To tell the truth, I ain’t know a lot about what’s happenin’… I was just on my way to the market to buy herbs an’ such. We can only grow so much at the clinic, y’know, and sewer water ain’t that good for crops.” She talked with a casual, roving gentleness, and finished her statement by lifting the cloth over her handbasket to reveal a clump of leaves and roots—as well as a handful of mushrooms probably all too familiar to Horn and Laylah. Why, one was sprouting tall and proud through a crevice on the wall, right there!
“Anyway, my friend threw a peach at a guard and the next thing I know we’re here! Speakin’ of guards, though, this is a pretty tucked away locale.” Rosemary’s pale grey eyes shimmered in the torchlight as she shifted from one foot to another, more serious now. “If your people—or any of the children, especially—need any healin', don’t hesitate to visit the hospice at the Dock Ward, by the burnt district beside the twisted grates. Don't know about this Dax of yours, but we aren't in the business of turnin' away folks that need help.”
|
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Jan 7, 2020 22:50:59 GMT
Miri glanced around at the glances of the residents of the small cavern, and then back to the dwarf, carefully skipping over the half-drow whose opinion of her mattered not in the least. She nodded once to the other obvious strangers. For a moment, she thought about it; she really thought about it. Miri even snuck in a longing glance back over her shoulder, wondering how feasible it was to find her way back to the surface. She did not, Miri thought irritably, see the quarry who’d gotten her into this mess anywhere around, unfortunately, and her head still hurt very, very much.
Miri followed after the others; she didn’t see that she had much choice. She squinted in annoyance at each torch they passed, and scowled at a handful of them; the scents wafting through the tunnel were pleasant, and also thoroughly nauseating, with how unsteady her stomach was. She rubbed her face in her hands, wiping the irritation away, and took a deep breath, fixing her attention on the back of the dwarf, and then the young elvish woman behind the chair.
Miri crossed her arms over her chest, then loosened them and set her hands on her hips. She raised her eyebrows at the elf’s introduction. “My name is Miri Blackstone,” she said, somewhat slower than usual in her tiredness. Her gaze drifted over her companions, and went back to the elf behind the desk. “I’ve worked with the Watch on occasion, although I’ve always been my own mistress,” Miri said, casually, thinking it best to bring it up herself rather than have it be thought she had hidden it. “But anyone happy with what they see of the downtrodden in Waterdeep must be missing their eyes, and blind besides.” There was genuine anger to her voice, an aching flare of it, before Miri tucked it behind a smooth face and a bow. “Begging your pardon,” she added, and found a polite smile somewhere in her chest.
|
|
