Friendly Faces

You sit around a sturdy wooden table lit by a brightly burning candle and littered with plates cleared of food and half-drained tankards. The sounds of gamblers yelling and drunken adventurers singing bawdy songs nearly drown out the off-key strumming of a young bard three tables over. You’re seated round a large table, chatting with some friends you’ve made. Of all things in Waterdeep, connections are the most vital things of all. Money can buy power and some magic items, but friendship can get you anything, even, sometimes, friends.

Next to Chalcis sits a slightly older human man with an enthusiastic beard. Meloon Wardragon is an odd fellow, a member of the Grey Hands, a powerful faction in waterdeep. The Grey Hands are committed to defending waterdeep above all other concerns, and are fiercely loyal to the city as an entity. Most members of the Grey Hands are either watchmen or adventurers, and Meloon is the latter. He’s in the process of retiring, spending more and more time at the Yawning Portal. A recent trip down to undermountain killed the rest of his crew, and he whiles away the days drinking and warning others not to go down there. Meloon’s been around and seen it all, but doesnt let his cynicism ever overtake his enthusiasm, even at this point in his grief. Meloon also has a fancy magic axe, but in his words, they’ve had a “falling out” and from time to time he glares at the thing, no doubt either angry at it for letting him down, or perhaps he feels he’s failed it. You’ve seen him, deeper in drink, yell at it and tell it to leave him alone. “Listen. Here’s what you gotta know. There’s gangs in waterdeep, always have been, always will be. The watch is good, but with so many places to hide, gangs are a fact of life. But we don’t have to let them rest easy.” He lowers his voice “The real assholes are the Zhentarim, the Black Network. While most of our gangs are local boys doing local things, this is way bigger than waterdeep, and we absolutely cannot let them get so much as a toehold.” He slams his empty tankard onto the table as a form of punctuation, making everything rattle. “When it comes time to take down the Zhents, you ask your buddy Loony Wardragon for help. Anything you need. Intel, gear, even a good axe-arm.”

Away from the crowd, Curly sits Bonnie with Bonnie, a barmaid in her very early twenties with red hair and a “Can I help you?” that has the radiance of the morning sun. She’s just gosh danged friendly. She moved to the city with her family about a year back, who she cares for, both emotionally and financially. She’s on break, and is in the middle of imparting some wisdom. “There’s so many factions and powers and nobles, and what have yous with fancy titles, but listen. I know this city from the navel down, and what is it? People. Tens of thousands of people. Honest folk. Hard working folk, petty folk and crooks and saints and all inbetween. Stick to that sort of people, the worst of them will steal your shoes, and the best of them will bless your life.” She pauses thoughtfully “And listen, you ever hear about odd jobs that need doing, windows need washing, that sort of thing? Bonnie’s your girl. There’s always a little bit extra time and a little too few coins. You need directions round the rougher parts of town? I know a lot of people and a lot of places.”

Engaged in an epic contest of strength with Kozu is Yagra. You know who Yagra is, everyone does. A huge, hulking half orc lady, bar brawl champ, arm-wrestling champ, and the uncreative but very threatening curse-champ, 2 years running. She leans back and stretches in a way that makes you acutely aware of every one of her muscles. “It doesn’t matter who wins, it’s the fight that counts. If someone wins, there’s no fight. If there’s no fight, there’s no fun and no pay. That’s why after you beat someone at arm wrestling, you say “good job, you owe me a dragon” and ruffle their hair. That way they’ll come back and you’ll get another dragon out of them when they lose next time. Gang fights are fine, but gang wars are bad. When gangs fight, it’s meant to be for territory, for status, not to actually kill anyone. But now the Xanathar are going for all out war, and are killing any Zhents they see. The Zhents are fine. They just want to steal and smuggle and that sorta shit. No one gets hurt. If the watch finds them they run, not fight. The Xans are going to be the death of all fun in this city. If you need a Xan skull cracked, come find ya girl Yagra. I’ll help you for free. I get to keep all the teeth though. I feel that’s reasonable.”

Next to Sil sits Obaya Uday. The priestess speaks with an accent that you learn marks her as a native of Chult. She follows Waukeen, a goddess of trade, but Obaya is far from mercenary. She believes that trade among allies is good when it helps both parties, and you’ve seen her go on more than one tangent about progressive taxation or equitable tariffs or some such. She is, to all appearances, genuine and kind, even if she never accepts a free drink. She is here to collect magical items from Undermountain, and while she’s up front about this, she doesn’t explain any more than “she knows a collector back home”. You’ve seen her look at Meloon’s axe more than once with a lustful expression. She has taken a shine to Sil, as both a fellow devout and someone who means well. She has been very up front as well about what she’s willing to do for you. “While you find your feet, I can help you with any blessing from Waukeen at 20% below temple rates. If you find a magic item that holds mysteries, I can solve those for you gratius, so long as if you intend to sell it you first offer to sell it to me at 4.5% below market rates.”