Post by 3personal5me on Jul 20, 2020 16:08:51 GMT
Stephen Ward started his day as he normally did. He rolled out of bed before the sun was up, and made his way to his favorite tavern, the Battered Door. It was a quiet morning, and not many people were in the tavern so early. He waved to the barkeep, a Tiefling named Akus, and slid into a booth in the corner. Akus was quick to bring him a coffee, as he did every morning, and set it on the table without a word. It was almost like a ritual they had. Coffee when he sat down, followed by fried eggs, toast, and a slice of ham as soon as they were cooked.
Stephen sat quietly, sipping his drink and letting the delicious brew slowly wake him up. He set a single silver on the table, as he did every morning to pay for his meal. He yawned, and went over the events of the past few days.
It had all started in this tavern, sitting at this booth. He was drinking his morning coffee, when he was approached by a stranger. The first thing he noticed was the limp. He could hear it as the stranger walked across the old wooden floor. Whoever this guy was, he clearly had a rough couple of days.
“Stephen Ward?”
Stephen looked up from his coffee and nodded. He watched the man carefully, his trained eyes quickly taking in as many details as he could. He was surprised to see the stranger had a metal arm. It wasn’t a crude approximation of a limb, but a fully functional replacement. That was rare to see, to say the least. Setting that detail aside for a moment, he let his eyes rake over the rest of the man. Dirty blonde hair, shoulder length but well kept. Facial hair was kept trimmed close to the jaw. The clothes were high quality, and exceptionally clean. His nose picked up the faint scent of peppermint soap. This man was wealthy.
“I need your help,” the man continued, slipping into the seat opposite the detective. “I was told you have some skills, and may be willing to use them in exchange for some coin”. Stephen sighed in annoyance.
“I don’t do that anymore. You need help finding a runaway bride, or tracking down some thug that robbed you last night, you can go to the guards”. The stranger shook his head.
“I’m Anthony Allerton. I was the target of two attempted assassinations the day before yesterday”. Stephen's ears perked up. Assassination? That was a bit more serious. He took a slow sip of coffee as he toyed with the idea of taking on the job.
“Okay. Keep talking”. Anthony signalled Akus for a drink, and started telling his story.
It was nearly an hour before Anthony was finished talking. Stephen had stayed silent the entire time, drinking in the details. He had long finished his coffee, and was well into a second cup when Anthony finished. “So there you have it. Two assassination attempts, by a half-orc that robbed my family on the other side of the country. He most definitely died in the first attempt, and most definitely attacked me again the next day. I want to know how, and why”. Stephen nodded, and stood up.
“I’ll look into it, but I won’t promise anything. Pay three is gold a day, another three if I find the guy, and compensation for any expenses”. Anthony quickly agreed, and slid a dozen gold across the table along with a slip of paper.
“There's four days pay. You can find me at that address. I’ll keep paying if you can’t find him by then”. The pair shook hands, Anthony choosing to stay behind and eat while Stephen left to begin his investigation.
The detectives first stop was to see one of his old coworkers, Wexley. He worked a desk job, processing paperwork. Stephen travelled across Waterdeep to the guard post his friend worked at, giving the receptionist a quick nod as he passed. He was well known in this particular guard post, having been stationed there for years. While civilians weren’t normally allowed to wander a guard post without an escort, they usually made an exception for Stephen.
He rapped on the door to Wexleys office, letting himself in before the occupant could answer. “Stephen!” Wexley was setting behind his desk, a stack of papers in front of him. “How are you buddy!” The portly guard got up and wrapped Stephen in a bear hug, which Stephen awkwardly returned. “To what do I owe this visit?”
“Working a case,” he replied as he sat down in the guest chair in front of the desk. Wexley returned to his seat behind the desk, pushing the stack of papers to the side. “Looking for a half-orc by the name of Gramisk”. Wexley nodded and leaned back in his chair.
“Talked to that Stephen guy, huh? Yeah, he came by. Told him we didn’t have jurisdiction so far outside the city walls. I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon about it”. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a few papers, which he slid across the desk to Stephen. “I took the liberty of searching through some records for this Gramisk guy. I never found any sort of location or record of an arrest or anything like that. But I did find a mention of his name”. Stephen flicked through the file, skimming over it. “Short version is that we had a collar a few weeks ago. Guy was seen sneaking into an abandoned warehouse. We sent some uniforms over, kicked in the door, and found half a dozen men inside. Rounded them up and brought them one. But one of them was heard saying the name ‘Gramisk’ right before they were busted”.
“Sounds like a good start. He still in lockup?” Wexley shook his head.
“Someone posted bail on the whole group. Got out a few days ago”. Stephen nodded and stood up, tucking the file into his jacket. “Bail for the group was almost three grand. Whoever it was, they have some pull. Watch yourself out there”. Stephen nodded and saw himself out, heading back into the streets. He started back home, intent to grab some equipment before he staked out the warehouse. He read the file as he walked, pouring over the contents. No detail was overlooked; the address, arresting officer, descriptions of the arrested, ages, all could be useful. Once he finished, he read it again. And again. He was almost done reading it a fourth time when he finally reached his home. It was a small building, which most people would call cozy. In his bedroom, he opened the trunk in the corner and began to retrieve his equipment. Grappling hook, crowbar, lockpicks, night vision goggles; most would consider them the tools of thieves. He supposed that, in a way, he was a thief. Out to steal secrets. He began to prepare himself, waiting for sundown.
It was well after sunset, and Stephen found himself perched on a rooftop across from the warehouse. Down below, in the streets, the occasional civilian wandered by. Dock workers, drunks, and the occasional “lady of the night”. But nobody approached the warehouse. After two hours of nothing, he decided to take a look inside. He moved from rooftop to rooftop, working his way down the street, across, and back to the warehouse. On its rooftop, he found a loose panel and pried it open. He poked his head in, and looked around.
The building was almost empty. There was the occasional crate, most of which were busted open and empty, and trash strewn everywhere. Satisfied that it was empty, he used his grappling hook to slowly descend into the building, pausing when he reached the ground. You can never be too careful when sneaking around. He gave the rope a flick, dislodging the grappling hook and catching it as it fell. He stowed it back in his pack, and began to search the building. The arrest was made weeks ago, and the warehouse had already been searched by the guards. According to the file, nothing was found. But according to Stephens experience, your average guards weren’t great at processing a crime scene.
He slowly worked his way around the building, starting with the walls and slowly spiralling inwards towards the center. He picked his way through the trash, when something caught his eye. Amongst the garbage, a sheet of paper caught his eye. It looked newer than the rest, and one word in particular stood out; “Anthony”. He plucked the paper from the ground and looked it over. It was a brief message. “Anthony Allerton, Waterdeep, twenty thousand gold for proof”. Stephen tucked the note into his coat, and kept searching. Satisfied that there was nothing else hidden within the garbage, he started searching the crates strewn about. Most were open and devoid of any goods, holding only the straw that was packed inside to protect the contents from impacts. Several of the crates were still sealed, which his crowbar quickly remedied. They contained various mundane goods; Mugs, plates, some oil lamps, and other uninteresting items. One crate, however, stood out. The wood on the edges of the lid was splintered and cracked, as if it had been pried open and nailed shut again. He quickly opened it and rummaged through it. Within, he found more mundane goods. Hidden underneath, however, buried deep in the straw, was a wand. He inspected the arcane implement before pocketing it. He didn’t have knowledge of the arcane, but he knew someone who may be able to help.
The rest of his search bore no fruit. It was late into the night, well past midnight. He used his grappling hook to exit through the roof, through the same hole he had entered through, and made his way back home. He continued to travel by rooftop for several blocks, to shake anyone who may be following him, before finally descending to the ground and walking the rest of the way.
When he got close to home, he took a few detours through alleyways. One last effort to lose any possible tails, before reaching his house. He packed away all of his gear, and sat down at his desk to take a closer look at the note he had found. He pulled his oil lamp closer, the orange glow illuminating the crimson writing. “Anthony Allerton, Waterdeep, twenty thousand gold for proof”. He highly doubted that the author was simply seeking proof that Allerton was in the city. Though he had no other proof to go by, it seemed obvious to him that this was evidence of a hit put out on Anthony. It wasn’t much to go on, as far as continuing an investigation, but it was reassuring to find proof that there was, in fact, something to be investigated. He held the parchment closer to the flame, trying to illuminate it better. The ink seemed to have a slight smear leading to the right. The writer was left handed. The ink seemed to be thick, and almost flakey. He gave the sheet a quick whiff. Coppery. Perhaps written in blood? That was something he could work with.
It was late, and he was tired. He resolved to continue the investigation the next day, placed the note into his desk drawer, and got ready for bed. He double checked the locks on the windows and door, snuffed out the lights, and crawled into bed.
He woke the next day and prepared to continue his investigation. He started the day with a quick breakfast at the Battered Door, as usual. Satisfied, caffeine infused, and ready for the day, he set off for the nearest wizards school. He wasn’t one for magic, but knew its capabilities. He was met by a kind elderly female elf in the main lobby, busy behind a desk. “Excuse me ma’am, I am in need of some magical assistance”. She looked up and adjusted her glasses, giving him a warm smile.
“What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
“I’m a private investigator. I have some items I would like inspected by someone with arcane knowledge. I can pay, of course”. He produced the wand he found from within his coat, offering it to the woman. “This wand was found at a crime scene, and I was hoping there was something useful that could be learned from it”. The woman took the wand, peering over her glasses to inspect it.
“Hmm. Well, it certainly isn’t from around here. I don’t know what kind of wood this is, but it’s not native to the area. Let me see if I can get you a diviner to talk with''. She handed the wand back and consulted a large, leather bound tome. She flipped through it, found whatever she was looking for, and turned to a large cabinet behind her. She opened it, revealing well over two dozen sending stones. She plucked one from the shelf and talked into it for a moment. She put it back and turned back to the detective. “Good news, one of our professors is currently available!” She gave him directions to the professor's office, and Stephen headed deeper into the building.
He found the office quite quickly, and knocked on the door. “Come in”, came the voice from the other side of the door. Stephen entered, finding a dwarf seated on a cushion on the ground, pouring over some scrolls. “Ah, you must be the investigator. Alright, lets see what you have for me to look at”. Stephen offered up the wand again, and explained where he got it. The dwarf ran his fingers along the wand, humming quietly to himself with his eyes closed. Stephen stood quietly, waiting for a response. A long minute passed before the dwarf opened his eyes and offered the wand back. “It’s a wand of Lightning Bolt. Quite the powerful spell, I must say”.
Stephen took the wand and placed it back in his coat. “Anything else you can tell me? Where it came from?”
“I’m afraid not. Was there anything else you needed?” Stephen drew the note from his pocket, holding it out.
“Could you tell me who wrote this note?” He knew that such a spell was not cheap. The City Guard had access to such magic through the various magical schools, thanks to a complex contract through the city itself. As an independent, however, he did not have such luxuries. Even so, he did not expect the price tag.
“One thousand gold”, the dwarf replied. “That's just the materials. I wont charge you for the labor, seeing as I respect the work you're doing”.
“A thousand is pretty steep,” Stephen replied. “How about five hundred, and I owe you a favor?” The dwarf stroked his beard in thought. “Seven hundred and a favor”.
“How about a favor, and you can have the wand after the investigation?” Stephen countered.
“Fine. Let me see the paper”. Anthony handed over the note, and again waited quietly. The dwarf opened a chest, withdrew a crystal ball, and began to work. This spell took even longer, nearly ten minutes. The dwarves' eyes took on an unearthly glow as he started off into space. When it was over, the crystal ball crumbled into dust. “I can’t tell you much, unfortunately. It was a man, half-elf, probably about fifty. Brown hair, green eyes, probably about five foot eight. He was in some kind of workshop.”
Stephen nodded in thanks, and took back the note. “I will return with the wand at some point”. He scribbled his name and address on a scrap of paper and gave it to the wizard. “Let me know when you need that favor”. He left the magic school, giving the receptionist a nod as he left, and pondered his next move. He still had plenty of time in the day to work. He decided to follow up on the note later. For now, he was going to try to find more information about the wand. He knew there was a druid that lived not far outside the city. He had met her years ago, when she had a run in with the guards. She had been accused of theft, but was cleared after it was found that the accuser was in fact drunk that night, and had simply misplaced his coin purse.
Stephen passed through the outer gates of the city, following the road south to a small wooded thicket. There he found a small hut, with a quaint garden beside it. He knocked on the door, which was answered by a short wood elf. She was clad in furs, and was holding a wooden club. “What do you want?” She asked, eyes narrowed.
Stephen held his hands up in a show of peace. “I need your knowledge of nature”. He slowly reached into his coat, and drew the wand. “Can you tell me what kind of wood this is made of, and where it came from?” The druid eyed the wand, then opened the door further and signalled for Stephen to follow him.
“Why?” she asked bluntly. She led him into the small hut, and gestured to a table with several chairs. She sank into one, and Stephen joined her in another. He explained what was happening, and why he needed to learn more about the wand. She inspected the wand as he spoke, picking at it with her nail, smelling it, and even licking it. She stared at it for a moment, then handed it back. “This came from a tree far to the east. Thousands of miles to the east. I don’t know any place anywhere near here where it may grow. This is a rare wand, indeed”. Stephen pocketed the wand again and stood to leave. “Wait!” Stephen froze, and turned back to her. “Don’t I get a payment? Stephen sighed.
“Can I owe you a favor?”
Stephen eventually found himself in Wexleys office again. The portly man drummed his fingers on his desk. “Male half-elf in his fifties? That's not much to go on”. Stephen nodded grimly.
“That’s all I have to go on. That, and a possible connection to a city or party to the east”. Wexley lit a cigarette and took a long pull, the blue smoke wafting lazily to the ceiling.
“I’ll see what I can find, but don’t expect anything”. Wexley sighed and rubbed his eyes. “As is, the higher ups are getting suspicious about me pulling records so often”.
“I appreciate the help, Wex. I couldn’t do half my work without you”. Stephen stood and pushed his chair in, and tossed a pack of cigarettes on the table. “Thanks for the help. You know where to find me”. He left, heading for the address that Allerton had given him.
The house was in a nice part of town. Large villas, plenty of decorative shrubbery, and well kept roads. Allertons villa was at the end of one of these streets. Stephen used the door knocker, the dull thud echoing through the building. There was silence for a few minutes, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps inside. The door was yanked open, and Stephen was greeted by a massive suit of armor. “Stephen, good to see you”. Stephen quickly identified the voice, even if it was muffled by the armor.
“Allerton. I have some news on the investigation. May I come in?” Anthony led the detective inside to a well decorated foyer.
“Can I offer you anything? A drink, maybe?” Stephen shook his head.
“What's with the armor in your own home?”
Anthony chuckled. “I was nearly killed, and whoever it was that tried is still out there. I’m not taking any chances. Now, what's the news?”
“I’ve found some clues and evidence that I wanted to share; perhaps you have some insight to it”. He set the note and the wand on the table and sat down. “The note looks like a hit put out on you. Looks like twenty thousand gold for proof they killed you. I had it analyzed by a wizard, who was able to use some divination magic on it. Said the writer was a half-elf, mid fifties, male, in a workshop. Green eyes, brown hair, average height. As for the wand, it's a wand of Lightning Bolts. Came from a tree that grows far to the east. Does any of this mean anything to you?”
Anthony took his helmet off, setting it on the table. “Far east? Makes sense. I’m guessing whoever followed me to Waterdeep brought the wand with them. And it sounds like the same kind of wand that was used to attack me. Someone with quite a bit of money is funding the group that's hunting me. Makes sense, I suppose; what's a few wands if it earns you a small fortune?” He picked up the wand and inspected it, turning it over in his gauntleted hands. He paused to inspect the grip, and frowned. “This makers mark here… my family made this wand. We were… Well, we made weapons of war. It looks like someone is using our own products''.
That was a revelation Stephen didn't expect. “Any chance that can point us to the culprit?” Anthony shook his head in response.
“No. We made thousands of wands a year. They weren’t hard to get ahold of. But the half-elf sounds vaguely familiar. I remember my father meeting with someone that matched that description. He was from the military or the government or something like that. I was probably ten when it happened; I can’t remember much. But whatever it was, they were arguing”.
Stephen sat back and furrowed his brow. “Sounds like someone is looking for revenge. A personal attack. I try to avoid any sort of preconceptions about a case, but I figured this was business related. The fact that it is personal could help us. Can you reach out to your father to learn more about this guy?”
“I haven’t spoken to my family since I left. They think I’m here on business. Greasing palms and trying to set up contracts with the city. Really, I just wanted to get out of the business and do my own thing. And I would rather not tell them what I’ve been up to. So no, I won’t be reaching out to him. It would take well over a month to get a message to him anyways. I don’t think we have that kind of time”.
Stephen groaned. He hated when someone's personal hang ups got in the way of a case. “Okay. I have someone going over documents and files to see if we can find anyone matching that description in the city.From there, we can see if you recognize any names”. Stephen stood and scooped up the note and wand, placing them back in his coat. “I’ll have the list sent to you tomorrow. Let me know if anything else comes up in the meantime”. Anthony donned his helmet again, and showed Stephen to the door.
“Before you go, I do have one thing for you”. From a pouch on his belt, Anthony produced a key. “This will get you into my house. Don’t sneak up on me, because I WILL try to defend myself. This is for emergencies”. Stephen took the key and nodded.
“I’ll keep that in mind”. Stephen head back home, taking his usual random, winding path to shake anyone that was tailing him. As far as he knew, he had never been followed home before. But he knew that when you made a living from ruining the days of criminals, there was always the possibility that one would seek revenge. He had known a few guards that had been ambushed in such a way. Unfortunately, many more had simply gone missing after a shift. While it was never confirmed, it was generally believed that they had met their end after having a dagger slipped into their back, and their bodies dumped in the harbor or buried in the wild. After everything Stephen had done, he was sure there were at least a half dozen people in the city that would like to see him meet the same fate.
He ate a quick dinner and did his usual nightly routine of checking all the locks. He finally crawled into bed, and settled in for a good night's sleep.
Stephen sat quietly, sipping his drink and letting the delicious brew slowly wake him up. He set a single silver on the table, as he did every morning to pay for his meal. He yawned, and went over the events of the past few days.
It had all started in this tavern, sitting at this booth. He was drinking his morning coffee, when he was approached by a stranger. The first thing he noticed was the limp. He could hear it as the stranger walked across the old wooden floor. Whoever this guy was, he clearly had a rough couple of days.
“Stephen Ward?”
Stephen looked up from his coffee and nodded. He watched the man carefully, his trained eyes quickly taking in as many details as he could. He was surprised to see the stranger had a metal arm. It wasn’t a crude approximation of a limb, but a fully functional replacement. That was rare to see, to say the least. Setting that detail aside for a moment, he let his eyes rake over the rest of the man. Dirty blonde hair, shoulder length but well kept. Facial hair was kept trimmed close to the jaw. The clothes were high quality, and exceptionally clean. His nose picked up the faint scent of peppermint soap. This man was wealthy.
“I need your help,” the man continued, slipping into the seat opposite the detective. “I was told you have some skills, and may be willing to use them in exchange for some coin”. Stephen sighed in annoyance.
“I don’t do that anymore. You need help finding a runaway bride, or tracking down some thug that robbed you last night, you can go to the guards”. The stranger shook his head.
“I’m Anthony Allerton. I was the target of two attempted assassinations the day before yesterday”. Stephen's ears perked up. Assassination? That was a bit more serious. He took a slow sip of coffee as he toyed with the idea of taking on the job.
“Okay. Keep talking”. Anthony signalled Akus for a drink, and started telling his story.
It was nearly an hour before Anthony was finished talking. Stephen had stayed silent the entire time, drinking in the details. He had long finished his coffee, and was well into a second cup when Anthony finished. “So there you have it. Two assassination attempts, by a half-orc that robbed my family on the other side of the country. He most definitely died in the first attempt, and most definitely attacked me again the next day. I want to know how, and why”. Stephen nodded, and stood up.
“I’ll look into it, but I won’t promise anything. Pay three is gold a day, another three if I find the guy, and compensation for any expenses”. Anthony quickly agreed, and slid a dozen gold across the table along with a slip of paper.
“There's four days pay. You can find me at that address. I’ll keep paying if you can’t find him by then”. The pair shook hands, Anthony choosing to stay behind and eat while Stephen left to begin his investigation.
The detectives first stop was to see one of his old coworkers, Wexley. He worked a desk job, processing paperwork. Stephen travelled across Waterdeep to the guard post his friend worked at, giving the receptionist a quick nod as he passed. He was well known in this particular guard post, having been stationed there for years. While civilians weren’t normally allowed to wander a guard post without an escort, they usually made an exception for Stephen.
He rapped on the door to Wexleys office, letting himself in before the occupant could answer. “Stephen!” Wexley was setting behind his desk, a stack of papers in front of him. “How are you buddy!” The portly guard got up and wrapped Stephen in a bear hug, which Stephen awkwardly returned. “To what do I owe this visit?”
“Working a case,” he replied as he sat down in the guest chair in front of the desk. Wexley returned to his seat behind the desk, pushing the stack of papers to the side. “Looking for a half-orc by the name of Gramisk”. Wexley nodded and leaned back in his chair.
“Talked to that Stephen guy, huh? Yeah, he came by. Told him we didn’t have jurisdiction so far outside the city walls. I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon about it”. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a few papers, which he slid across the desk to Stephen. “I took the liberty of searching through some records for this Gramisk guy. I never found any sort of location or record of an arrest or anything like that. But I did find a mention of his name”. Stephen flicked through the file, skimming over it. “Short version is that we had a collar a few weeks ago. Guy was seen sneaking into an abandoned warehouse. We sent some uniforms over, kicked in the door, and found half a dozen men inside. Rounded them up and brought them one. But one of them was heard saying the name ‘Gramisk’ right before they were busted”.
“Sounds like a good start. He still in lockup?” Wexley shook his head.
“Someone posted bail on the whole group. Got out a few days ago”. Stephen nodded and stood up, tucking the file into his jacket. “Bail for the group was almost three grand. Whoever it was, they have some pull. Watch yourself out there”. Stephen nodded and saw himself out, heading back into the streets. He started back home, intent to grab some equipment before he staked out the warehouse. He read the file as he walked, pouring over the contents. No detail was overlooked; the address, arresting officer, descriptions of the arrested, ages, all could be useful. Once he finished, he read it again. And again. He was almost done reading it a fourth time when he finally reached his home. It was a small building, which most people would call cozy. In his bedroom, he opened the trunk in the corner and began to retrieve his equipment. Grappling hook, crowbar, lockpicks, night vision goggles; most would consider them the tools of thieves. He supposed that, in a way, he was a thief. Out to steal secrets. He began to prepare himself, waiting for sundown.
It was well after sunset, and Stephen found himself perched on a rooftop across from the warehouse. Down below, in the streets, the occasional civilian wandered by. Dock workers, drunks, and the occasional “lady of the night”. But nobody approached the warehouse. After two hours of nothing, he decided to take a look inside. He moved from rooftop to rooftop, working his way down the street, across, and back to the warehouse. On its rooftop, he found a loose panel and pried it open. He poked his head in, and looked around.
The building was almost empty. There was the occasional crate, most of which were busted open and empty, and trash strewn everywhere. Satisfied that it was empty, he used his grappling hook to slowly descend into the building, pausing when he reached the ground. You can never be too careful when sneaking around. He gave the rope a flick, dislodging the grappling hook and catching it as it fell. He stowed it back in his pack, and began to search the building. The arrest was made weeks ago, and the warehouse had already been searched by the guards. According to the file, nothing was found. But according to Stephens experience, your average guards weren’t great at processing a crime scene.
He slowly worked his way around the building, starting with the walls and slowly spiralling inwards towards the center. He picked his way through the trash, when something caught his eye. Amongst the garbage, a sheet of paper caught his eye. It looked newer than the rest, and one word in particular stood out; “Anthony”. He plucked the paper from the ground and looked it over. It was a brief message. “Anthony Allerton, Waterdeep, twenty thousand gold for proof”. Stephen tucked the note into his coat, and kept searching. Satisfied that there was nothing else hidden within the garbage, he started searching the crates strewn about. Most were open and devoid of any goods, holding only the straw that was packed inside to protect the contents from impacts. Several of the crates were still sealed, which his crowbar quickly remedied. They contained various mundane goods; Mugs, plates, some oil lamps, and other uninteresting items. One crate, however, stood out. The wood on the edges of the lid was splintered and cracked, as if it had been pried open and nailed shut again. He quickly opened it and rummaged through it. Within, he found more mundane goods. Hidden underneath, however, buried deep in the straw, was a wand. He inspected the arcane implement before pocketing it. He didn’t have knowledge of the arcane, but he knew someone who may be able to help.
The rest of his search bore no fruit. It was late into the night, well past midnight. He used his grappling hook to exit through the roof, through the same hole he had entered through, and made his way back home. He continued to travel by rooftop for several blocks, to shake anyone who may be following him, before finally descending to the ground and walking the rest of the way.
When he got close to home, he took a few detours through alleyways. One last effort to lose any possible tails, before reaching his house. He packed away all of his gear, and sat down at his desk to take a closer look at the note he had found. He pulled his oil lamp closer, the orange glow illuminating the crimson writing. “Anthony Allerton, Waterdeep, twenty thousand gold for proof”. He highly doubted that the author was simply seeking proof that Allerton was in the city. Though he had no other proof to go by, it seemed obvious to him that this was evidence of a hit put out on Anthony. It wasn’t much to go on, as far as continuing an investigation, but it was reassuring to find proof that there was, in fact, something to be investigated. He held the parchment closer to the flame, trying to illuminate it better. The ink seemed to have a slight smear leading to the right. The writer was left handed. The ink seemed to be thick, and almost flakey. He gave the sheet a quick whiff. Coppery. Perhaps written in blood? That was something he could work with.
It was late, and he was tired. He resolved to continue the investigation the next day, placed the note into his desk drawer, and got ready for bed. He double checked the locks on the windows and door, snuffed out the lights, and crawled into bed.
He woke the next day and prepared to continue his investigation. He started the day with a quick breakfast at the Battered Door, as usual. Satisfied, caffeine infused, and ready for the day, he set off for the nearest wizards school. He wasn’t one for magic, but knew its capabilities. He was met by a kind elderly female elf in the main lobby, busy behind a desk. “Excuse me ma’am, I am in need of some magical assistance”. She looked up and adjusted her glasses, giving him a warm smile.
“What can I do for you, sweetheart?”
“I’m a private investigator. I have some items I would like inspected by someone with arcane knowledge. I can pay, of course”. He produced the wand he found from within his coat, offering it to the woman. “This wand was found at a crime scene, and I was hoping there was something useful that could be learned from it”. The woman took the wand, peering over her glasses to inspect it.
“Hmm. Well, it certainly isn’t from around here. I don’t know what kind of wood this is, but it’s not native to the area. Let me see if I can get you a diviner to talk with''. She handed the wand back and consulted a large, leather bound tome. She flipped through it, found whatever she was looking for, and turned to a large cabinet behind her. She opened it, revealing well over two dozen sending stones. She plucked one from the shelf and talked into it for a moment. She put it back and turned back to the detective. “Good news, one of our professors is currently available!” She gave him directions to the professor's office, and Stephen headed deeper into the building.
He found the office quite quickly, and knocked on the door. “Come in”, came the voice from the other side of the door. Stephen entered, finding a dwarf seated on a cushion on the ground, pouring over some scrolls. “Ah, you must be the investigator. Alright, lets see what you have for me to look at”. Stephen offered up the wand again, and explained where he got it. The dwarf ran his fingers along the wand, humming quietly to himself with his eyes closed. Stephen stood quietly, waiting for a response. A long minute passed before the dwarf opened his eyes and offered the wand back. “It’s a wand of Lightning Bolt. Quite the powerful spell, I must say”.
Stephen took the wand and placed it back in his coat. “Anything else you can tell me? Where it came from?”
“I’m afraid not. Was there anything else you needed?” Stephen drew the note from his pocket, holding it out.
“Could you tell me who wrote this note?” He knew that such a spell was not cheap. The City Guard had access to such magic through the various magical schools, thanks to a complex contract through the city itself. As an independent, however, he did not have such luxuries. Even so, he did not expect the price tag.
“One thousand gold”, the dwarf replied. “That's just the materials. I wont charge you for the labor, seeing as I respect the work you're doing”.
“A thousand is pretty steep,” Stephen replied. “How about five hundred, and I owe you a favor?” The dwarf stroked his beard in thought. “Seven hundred and a favor”.
“How about a favor, and you can have the wand after the investigation?” Stephen countered.
“Fine. Let me see the paper”. Anthony handed over the note, and again waited quietly. The dwarf opened a chest, withdrew a crystal ball, and began to work. This spell took even longer, nearly ten minutes. The dwarves' eyes took on an unearthly glow as he started off into space. When it was over, the crystal ball crumbled into dust. “I can’t tell you much, unfortunately. It was a man, half-elf, probably about fifty. Brown hair, green eyes, probably about five foot eight. He was in some kind of workshop.”
Stephen nodded in thanks, and took back the note. “I will return with the wand at some point”. He scribbled his name and address on a scrap of paper and gave it to the wizard. “Let me know when you need that favor”. He left the magic school, giving the receptionist a nod as he left, and pondered his next move. He still had plenty of time in the day to work. He decided to follow up on the note later. For now, he was going to try to find more information about the wand. He knew there was a druid that lived not far outside the city. He had met her years ago, when she had a run in with the guards. She had been accused of theft, but was cleared after it was found that the accuser was in fact drunk that night, and had simply misplaced his coin purse.
Stephen passed through the outer gates of the city, following the road south to a small wooded thicket. There he found a small hut, with a quaint garden beside it. He knocked on the door, which was answered by a short wood elf. She was clad in furs, and was holding a wooden club. “What do you want?” She asked, eyes narrowed.
Stephen held his hands up in a show of peace. “I need your knowledge of nature”. He slowly reached into his coat, and drew the wand. “Can you tell me what kind of wood this is made of, and where it came from?” The druid eyed the wand, then opened the door further and signalled for Stephen to follow him.
“Why?” she asked bluntly. She led him into the small hut, and gestured to a table with several chairs. She sank into one, and Stephen joined her in another. He explained what was happening, and why he needed to learn more about the wand. She inspected the wand as he spoke, picking at it with her nail, smelling it, and even licking it. She stared at it for a moment, then handed it back. “This came from a tree far to the east. Thousands of miles to the east. I don’t know any place anywhere near here where it may grow. This is a rare wand, indeed”. Stephen pocketed the wand again and stood to leave. “Wait!” Stephen froze, and turned back to her. “Don’t I get a payment? Stephen sighed.
“Can I owe you a favor?”
Stephen eventually found himself in Wexleys office again. The portly man drummed his fingers on his desk. “Male half-elf in his fifties? That's not much to go on”. Stephen nodded grimly.
“That’s all I have to go on. That, and a possible connection to a city or party to the east”. Wexley lit a cigarette and took a long pull, the blue smoke wafting lazily to the ceiling.
“I’ll see what I can find, but don’t expect anything”. Wexley sighed and rubbed his eyes. “As is, the higher ups are getting suspicious about me pulling records so often”.
“I appreciate the help, Wex. I couldn’t do half my work without you”. Stephen stood and pushed his chair in, and tossed a pack of cigarettes on the table. “Thanks for the help. You know where to find me”. He left, heading for the address that Allerton had given him.
The house was in a nice part of town. Large villas, plenty of decorative shrubbery, and well kept roads. Allertons villa was at the end of one of these streets. Stephen used the door knocker, the dull thud echoing through the building. There was silence for a few minutes, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps inside. The door was yanked open, and Stephen was greeted by a massive suit of armor. “Stephen, good to see you”. Stephen quickly identified the voice, even if it was muffled by the armor.
“Allerton. I have some news on the investigation. May I come in?” Anthony led the detective inside to a well decorated foyer.
“Can I offer you anything? A drink, maybe?” Stephen shook his head.
“What's with the armor in your own home?”
Anthony chuckled. “I was nearly killed, and whoever it was that tried is still out there. I’m not taking any chances. Now, what's the news?”
“I’ve found some clues and evidence that I wanted to share; perhaps you have some insight to it”. He set the note and the wand on the table and sat down. “The note looks like a hit put out on you. Looks like twenty thousand gold for proof they killed you. I had it analyzed by a wizard, who was able to use some divination magic on it. Said the writer was a half-elf, mid fifties, male, in a workshop. Green eyes, brown hair, average height. As for the wand, it's a wand of Lightning Bolts. Came from a tree that grows far to the east. Does any of this mean anything to you?”
Anthony took his helmet off, setting it on the table. “Far east? Makes sense. I’m guessing whoever followed me to Waterdeep brought the wand with them. And it sounds like the same kind of wand that was used to attack me. Someone with quite a bit of money is funding the group that's hunting me. Makes sense, I suppose; what's a few wands if it earns you a small fortune?” He picked up the wand and inspected it, turning it over in his gauntleted hands. He paused to inspect the grip, and frowned. “This makers mark here… my family made this wand. We were… Well, we made weapons of war. It looks like someone is using our own products''.
That was a revelation Stephen didn't expect. “Any chance that can point us to the culprit?” Anthony shook his head in response.
“No. We made thousands of wands a year. They weren’t hard to get ahold of. But the half-elf sounds vaguely familiar. I remember my father meeting with someone that matched that description. He was from the military or the government or something like that. I was probably ten when it happened; I can’t remember much. But whatever it was, they were arguing”.
Stephen sat back and furrowed his brow. “Sounds like someone is looking for revenge. A personal attack. I try to avoid any sort of preconceptions about a case, but I figured this was business related. The fact that it is personal could help us. Can you reach out to your father to learn more about this guy?”
“I haven’t spoken to my family since I left. They think I’m here on business. Greasing palms and trying to set up contracts with the city. Really, I just wanted to get out of the business and do my own thing. And I would rather not tell them what I’ve been up to. So no, I won’t be reaching out to him. It would take well over a month to get a message to him anyways. I don’t think we have that kind of time”.
Stephen groaned. He hated when someone's personal hang ups got in the way of a case. “Okay. I have someone going over documents and files to see if we can find anyone matching that description in the city.From there, we can see if you recognize any names”. Stephen stood and scooped up the note and wand, placing them back in his coat. “I’ll have the list sent to you tomorrow. Let me know if anything else comes up in the meantime”. Anthony donned his helmet again, and showed Stephen to the door.
“Before you go, I do have one thing for you”. From a pouch on his belt, Anthony produced a key. “This will get you into my house. Don’t sneak up on me, because I WILL try to defend myself. This is for emergencies”. Stephen took the key and nodded.
“I’ll keep that in mind”. Stephen head back home, taking his usual random, winding path to shake anyone that was tailing him. As far as he knew, he had never been followed home before. But he knew that when you made a living from ruining the days of criminals, there was always the possibility that one would seek revenge. He had known a few guards that had been ambushed in such a way. Unfortunately, many more had simply gone missing after a shift. While it was never confirmed, it was generally believed that they had met their end after having a dagger slipped into their back, and their bodies dumped in the harbor or buried in the wild. After everything Stephen had done, he was sure there were at least a half dozen people in the city that would like to see him meet the same fate.
He ate a quick dinner and did his usual nightly routine of checking all the locks. He finally crawled into bed, and settled in for a good night's sleep.
