VashTheStampede
Dumdum McGee
As the party departs from The Keen Edge, armed with their new acquisitions and bolstered by the support of Garrick Ironhand, they set their sights on the Skewered Dragon, the next destination in their quest to find Floon Blagmaar. The streets of the Dock Ward unfold before them, a tapestry of life in one of Waterdeep's most vibrant districts.
The Dock Ward, with its salty air and the constant creak of ships in the harbor, even in the wintertime, feels alive with activity. Sailors haul cargo to and from the ships, merchants hawk their wares with boisterous calls, and townsfolk navigate the bustling streets with practiced ease. The party takes a moment to appreciate the sights and sounds, the cacophony of daily life in a district that never truly sleeps.
As they make their way through the crowded streets, the architecture of the Dock Ward tells its own story. Buildings, worn by time and the elements, stand shoulder to shoulder. So many scaffolds cover the walkways, as repairs and modifications born of necessity are constant. So many scaffolds cover the walkwaysHere and there, the party spots taverns and inns, their windows aglow with warmth and the promise of respite for weary travelers and locals alike.
The diversity of the Dock Ward's inhabitants is on full display, a reflection of Waterdeep's status as a melting pot of cultures and races. The party observes humans, dwarves, elves, and other races all going about their business, a testament to the city's reputation as a place where anyone can find their fortune—or misfortune, as the case may be.
Occasionally, the party catches snippets of conversation, tales of adventures on the high seas, of treasures found and lost, and of the ever-present intrigue that seems to permeate the city's underbelly. It's a reminder of the complexity of Waterdeep, a city where every alleyway and shadow could hold a story.
~~~~~
Eventually, the Skewered Dragon comes into view. It's immediately apparent why the tavern has earned its name—the sign hanging above the door features a dragon, crudely painted and pierced by a skewer. The building itself looks almost like a ruin. Both of its front-facing windows are smashed, and a ship's anchor is lodged in the roof. The door, sturdy and reinforced, suggests that while many are welcome, the safety of its patrons is not taken lightly. Through the windows, you can see a group of haggard patrons drinking from huge tankards.
Upon entering, the party is immediately enveloped by the warmth and dim light of the Skewered Dragon's interior, a stark contrast to the cold, bright world outside. The air is thick with the scent of ale, smoke, and the undercurrents of countless tales and secrets shared over drinks. The tavern's interior, much like its exterior, bears the marks of age and use. Wooden beams overhead show the patina of smoke and time, while the floorboards creak underfoot, echoing the steps of previous visitors.
The main room is spacious, filled with an assortment of tables and chairs that have clearly seen better days. The room is populated predominantly by dockworkers, their sturdy frames and weathered hands a testament to the hard labor of the docks. They gather in groups at tables scattered throughout the tavern, their conversations a blend of boisterous laughter and low, serious discussions, likely revolving around the day's work or plans for the morrow. The camaraderie among them is palpable, forged in the shared experiences of grueling work and the communal relief of the tavern's solace.
The Dock Ward, with its salty air and the constant creak of ships in the harbor, even in the wintertime, feels alive with activity. Sailors haul cargo to and from the ships, merchants hawk their wares with boisterous calls, and townsfolk navigate the bustling streets with practiced ease. The party takes a moment to appreciate the sights and sounds, the cacophony of daily life in a district that never truly sleeps.
As they make their way through the crowded streets, the architecture of the Dock Ward tells its own story. Buildings, worn by time and the elements, stand shoulder to shoulder. So many scaffolds cover the walkways, as repairs and modifications born of necessity are constant. So many scaffolds cover the walkwaysHere and there, the party spots taverns and inns, their windows aglow with warmth and the promise of respite for weary travelers and locals alike.
The diversity of the Dock Ward's inhabitants is on full display, a reflection of Waterdeep's status as a melting pot of cultures and races. The party observes humans, dwarves, elves, and other races all going about their business, a testament to the city's reputation as a place where anyone can find their fortune—or misfortune, as the case may be.
Occasionally, the party catches snippets of conversation, tales of adventures on the high seas, of treasures found and lost, and of the ever-present intrigue that seems to permeate the city's underbelly. It's a reminder of the complexity of Waterdeep, a city where every alleyway and shadow could hold a story.
~~~~~
Eventually, the Skewered Dragon comes into view. It's immediately apparent why the tavern has earned its name—the sign hanging above the door features a dragon, crudely painted and pierced by a skewer. The building itself looks almost like a ruin. Both of its front-facing windows are smashed, and a ship's anchor is lodged in the roof. The door, sturdy and reinforced, suggests that while many are welcome, the safety of its patrons is not taken lightly. Through the windows, you can see a group of haggard patrons drinking from huge tankards.
Upon entering, the party is immediately enveloped by the warmth and dim light of the Skewered Dragon's interior, a stark contrast to the cold, bright world outside. The air is thick with the scent of ale, smoke, and the undercurrents of countless tales and secrets shared over drinks. The tavern's interior, much like its exterior, bears the marks of age and use. Wooden beams overhead show the patina of smoke and time, while the floorboards creak underfoot, echoing the steps of previous visitors.
The main room is spacious, filled with an assortment of tables and chairs that have clearly seen better days. The room is populated predominantly by dockworkers, their sturdy frames and weathered hands a testament to the hard labor of the docks. They gather in groups at tables scattered throughout the tavern, their conversations a blend of boisterous laughter and low, serious discussions, likely revolving around the day's work or plans for the morrow. The camaraderie among them is palpable, forged in the shared experiences of grueling work and the communal relief of the tavern's solace.
