Disclaimer: The Forgotten Realms shared world is owned by Wizards of the
Coast, as are several minor characters in this story. The major
characters, however, belong to me and my D&D group.
Surprises at the Harpooned Duck Inn
After Neltharion took an hour to study his spells (using a few of them to sober everyone up), the companions went downstairs to eat, with a few occasional groans (wizards have developed many a spell, but not yet one to alleviate morning grumpiness).
After breakfast (during which Rootnik ate half his own weight in meat, and drank the other half in ale), the four adventurers had to wait around for Gerwulf to finish his morning rituals to Mystra, Lady of Magic. After the long and deeply boring chanting, filled with phrases like "Lady of Mysteries, show me the secrets of the Magic Weave," and "Grant me the knowledge of mighty magicks and the prudence to know when to use them," the group finally got out of the Harpooned Duck Inn, the lowest, most filthy waterfront dive in the entire city of Waterdeep.
Surprisingly, no young hotshot magelings emerged to challenge Neltharion. Similarly, no over-devout prayer-mumbling Mystran monk emerged from the local temple, saying to Gerwulf "I'm more pious than you and I'll prove it by smashing your feeble defenses with magic and leaving your bloodied corpse on the streets for all to see as my tribute to our loving, compassionate deity." All in all, it was a rather unusual morning for the four adventurers, who were used to being challenged by overbearing egotists, battling ancient evils twice a month, slaying dragons, collecting treasure, and (horrors!) staying at inns with bad rooms, worse meat, and cheap beer.
"By Mystra's seven secret spells, I've not had a five minutes so peaceful as this in almost three months," observed the priest. "I do believe that the Lady of Mysteries has finally granted us the peace and quiet we so deserve for our generous contributions to her glorious and noble church."
"Speak fer yerself," grumbled the dwarf. "The rest of us feel yer so- called devotion where it hurts most: right in the purse!"
"Agreed," said the mage. "I haven't been able to buy enough gemstones and glass rods to keep up with the number of storm-spells I've been conjuring while we run from some great beast with just enough money to cover Gerwulf's tithes and your bar tab.
Tabitha didn't speak up. She hadn't been suffering at all, mostly because she had been picking a few pockets after each adventure. Oh, she hadn't picked her friends' pockets, of course. No, the elven thief concentrated her wealth-redistribution efforts on petty merchants, pompous nobles, and the occasional greasy-haired innkeeper who watered down his beer (neither the thief nor the dwarf could abide the thought of cheap beer).
Then the morning got more normal. Tabitha picked a few more pockets, Rootnik displayed his incredible fighting prowess (for cash, of course), Neltharion went shopping for spell components with Rootnik and Tabitha's earnings (defeating a young upstart in a duel of magic along the way), and Gerwulf made his monthly report to the Mystran patriarch.
Something still wasn't right.
Neltharion was the one to observe it first. "I haven't been so bored since the day Tabitha insisted on using the entire afternoon to pick pockets at the nobles' parade."
Something had to be done, and soon.
Surprises at the Harpooned Duck Inn
After Neltharion took an hour to study his spells (using a few of them to sober everyone up), the companions went downstairs to eat, with a few occasional groans (wizards have developed many a spell, but not yet one to alleviate morning grumpiness).
After breakfast (during which Rootnik ate half his own weight in meat, and drank the other half in ale), the four adventurers had to wait around for Gerwulf to finish his morning rituals to Mystra, Lady of Magic. After the long and deeply boring chanting, filled with phrases like "Lady of Mysteries, show me the secrets of the Magic Weave," and "Grant me the knowledge of mighty magicks and the prudence to know when to use them," the group finally got out of the Harpooned Duck Inn, the lowest, most filthy waterfront dive in the entire city of Waterdeep.
Surprisingly, no young hotshot magelings emerged to challenge Neltharion. Similarly, no over-devout prayer-mumbling Mystran monk emerged from the local temple, saying to Gerwulf "I'm more pious than you and I'll prove it by smashing your feeble defenses with magic and leaving your bloodied corpse on the streets for all to see as my tribute to our loving, compassionate deity." All in all, it was a rather unusual morning for the four adventurers, who were used to being challenged by overbearing egotists, battling ancient evils twice a month, slaying dragons, collecting treasure, and (horrors!) staying at inns with bad rooms, worse meat, and cheap beer.
"By Mystra's seven secret spells, I've not had a five minutes so peaceful as this in almost three months," observed the priest. "I do believe that the Lady of Mysteries has finally granted us the peace and quiet we so deserve for our generous contributions to her glorious and noble church."
"Speak fer yerself," grumbled the dwarf. "The rest of us feel yer so- called devotion where it hurts most: right in the purse!"
"Agreed," said the mage. "I haven't been able to buy enough gemstones and glass rods to keep up with the number of storm-spells I've been conjuring while we run from some great beast with just enough money to cover Gerwulf's tithes and your bar tab.
Tabitha didn't speak up. She hadn't been suffering at all, mostly because she had been picking a few pockets after each adventure. Oh, she hadn't picked her friends' pockets, of course. No, the elven thief concentrated her wealth-redistribution efforts on petty merchants, pompous nobles, and the occasional greasy-haired innkeeper who watered down his beer (neither the thief nor the dwarf could abide the thought of cheap beer).
Then the morning got more normal. Tabitha picked a few more pockets, Rootnik displayed his incredible fighting prowess (for cash, of course), Neltharion went shopping for spell components with Rootnik and Tabitha's earnings (defeating a young upstart in a duel of magic along the way), and Gerwulf made his monthly report to the Mystran patriarch.
Something still wasn't right.
Neltharion was the one to observe it first. "I haven't been so bored since the day Tabitha insisted on using the entire afternoon to pick pockets at the nobles' parade."
Something had to be done, and soon.