Previously in Waterdeep

Last session, the trail through the City of the Dead led the party north through fog-choked streets and rain-darkened alleys until it finally stopped before a narrow storefront tucked along Spendthrift Alley. Beneath the hiss of drizzle and the creak of weathered signs, a single pale light glowed faintly behind dusty windows.

Above the door hung a hand-painted sign:

Dandymop’s Fine Wigs & Powder.

And there, standing across the street with questions outweighing answers, the party was left with a choice: Walk away, or go inside.

Dandymop’s Fine Wigs & Powder

Naturally, they went inside.

The shop greeted them with crooked shelves, cracked mirrors, and rows upon rows of porcelain wig stands staring silently into the dark like an audience that had died waiting for the show to begin. Powder dust drifted lazily through the stale air. Somewhere deeper inside, floorboards groaned softly beneath unseen weight.

Which only encouraged the party to immediately start touching things they absolutely should not have been touching.

One unfortunate wig stand was lifted, inspected, and nearly transformed into part of an impromptu bowling experiment before better judgment, barely, prevailed. Nervous laughter echoed between the shelves while the group searched the abandoned storefront for clues. Beneath the humor, though, the tension never fully left. Every creak sounded too loud. Every shadow seemed to move a moment too late.

And eventually, the investigation uncovered what they were truly looking for: A hidden way below.

Beneath the Floorboards

The deeper the party descended beneath Dandymop’s, the more the city above seemed to disappear.

The comforting noise of Waterdeep faded into dripping water, shifting stone, and the soft scrape of boots against damp stairs. Broken corridors twisted downward through cramped darkness while the smell of mildew and old dust thickened the air. Here and there, faded markings appeared along the walls, chalk symbols half-erased by time and moisture.

Then came the voices. Not screaming. Not chanting in madness. Calm voices. Measured voices. Teaching voices. The party slowed immediately.

Light flickered faintly beneath a doorway ahead, pulsing blue-white against the stone. And as they crept closer, even the smallest mistake suddenly felt catastrophic. Which, unfortunately for everyone involved, is exactly when Clover’s boot scraped loudly across the floor.

The sound shattered the silence. The voices stopped. And somewhere beyond the doorway, someone quietly asked: “Who goes there?”

The Classroom Beneath the City

The chamber beyond was not what anyone expected. A skeleton rested atop a raised stone dais; its bones aligned with almost surgical precision while pale blue light rippled rhythmically beneath it. Three nervous students stood nearby in worn robes, their hands raised carefully as silver candlelight danced across scattered notes, chalk diagrams, and arcane symbols covering the walls.

And behind them stood their instructor. A weary halfling in lilac-dusted robes who looked more exhausted than dangerous.

“If you’ve come to condemn me, at least have the decency to see what it is you condemn.”

The room itself resembled less a crypt and more a classroom hidden beneath the city streets, a place of uncomfortable study rather than outright evil. Anatomical sketches lined the walls beside meticulous magical formulae. Books sat stacked beside carefully labeled tools. Nothing about it felt improvised or wild.

It felt academic. Which somehow made it stranger. The halfling studied the intruders cautiously but did not reach for violence. Instead, after a long moment, he spoke with quiet exhaustion.

“If you’ve come to condemn me, at least have the decency to see what it is you condemn.”

Steel loosened slightly in uncertain hands. No cultists rushed forward. No undead army stirred from the shadows. Only nervous students waiting to see whether strangers carrying swords intended to listen… or judge.

Scholars or Accusers

Not every skeleton beneath Waterdeep waits to be slain.

What followed was not the confrontation anyone expected. The instructor spoke openly about restraint, discipline, and the dangers of uncontrolled necromancy. He described the work not as domination of the dead, but as understanding forces most people feared too quickly to study. The students listened quietly while the party questioned him with equal parts suspicion and curiosity.

And for perhaps the first time since entering the chamber, nobody seemed entirely certain who was supposed to be afraid of whom.

For a moment, the dungeon stopped feeling like a battlefield and started feeling like a classroom.

The room held an awkward sort of tension, not quite trust, but no longer immediate hostility either. The sort of fragile calm where everyone understands that one wrong movement could destroy everything.

The halfling finally lowered his hand and asked: “Shall we speak as scholars… or accusers?”

And for a moment, it seemed the answer might actually matter.

So This Is How They’ll Remember Us

“So this is how they’ll remember us… as monsters.”

Then the skeleton moved.

The ritual apparatus jerked violently sideways as the corpse suddenly sat upright atop the dais. Bone scraped against stone with a sharp, hollow sound that froze the room instantly. Blue light flared wildly across the chamber while the students stumbled backward in panic.

The creature’s jaw creaked open. And whatever careful control had existed moments before shattered completely.

The instructor stared at the rising undead figure with visible heartbreak. “So this is how they’ll remember us,” he whispered softly. “As monsters.”

Protective magic flared instinctively around him as terrified students scrambled for cover. And then the skeleton lunged.

Steel Drawn in a Room for Learning

Chaos swallowed the chamber almost immediately. Flames burst from the creature’s scepter as overturned desks, scattered notes, and terrified shouting transformed the hidden classroom into a battlefield. Doc threw himself directly into the monster’s path, absorbing punishing blows through sheer fury and stubborn determination while Kiril searched for openings along the edges of the room.

Raven answered with precise bursts of eldritch force, Maple held steady against the rising panic, and Clover, equal parts courage and terrible timing, unleashed another unpredictable surge from his mysterious deck that sent wild magic twisting dangerously through the already unstable room.

The skeleton refused to fall. Bone cracked beneath repeated attacks. Blackened flesh peeled away in burning strips. Yet something inside the creature continued driving it forward with grim, unnatural purpose.

Every spell cast and every blade drawn carried uncertainty now.

But even amid the violence, hesitation lingered. This was not a sewer full of monsters. Not cultists calling for slaughter.

Every spell cast and every blade drawn carried uncertainty now. The students cowering behind shattered furniture looked terrified, not evil. Even their teacher seemed more horrified than malicious as his lesson collapsed into tragedy before his eyes.

And somewhere beneath the fire, fear, and steel, one impossible question still lingered: What if this was never supposed to happen?

What if this was never supposed to happen?

To Be Continued…

And there, with spells fading into smoke and steel still raised beneath flickering blue light, we ended the night.

A classroom in ruins. Students trembling behind overturned tables, a grieving instructor watching his worst fear unfold in real time, and a single undead figure standing at the center of a room meant for learning, not war.

Next session will decide whether the night beneath Dandymop’s Fine Wigs & Powder ends in understanding… or catastrophe.