Previously in Waterdeep

The party uncovered a hidden classroom beneath Dandymop’s Fine Wigs & Powder, battled animated skeletons among forgotten lessons, and returned to Trollskull Manor carrying more questions than answers. They also returned with another cask from Stoutfellow Vineyard, one more piece of their dream tavern slowly coming together.

Skittering in the Dark

The work of rebuilding Trollskull Manor never seemed to stay simple for long. What should have been a routine trip to the cellar became something else entirely when strange sounds echoed through the darkness below. The newly delivered cask from Stoutfellow Vineyard had barely been set in place before skittering shapes emerged from the shadows.

The battle that followed was brief but chaotic. Steel flashed, spells illuminated dusty stone, creatures darted between crates and barrels in the cramped darkness beneath the manor and for a few tense moments, it felt as though Trollskull itself had decided to remind its new owners that old buildings often keep old secrets.

Eventually the cellar fell quiet again. The creatures were dead, the casks were safe. The manor still stood. Yet as the dust settled and the adventurers examined the space, one detail refused to sit comfortably in the mind.

A narrow crack cut through the stone. Not a natural fracture, not the result of age. Too smooth, too deliberate.

Whatever had used it had come from somewhere deeper. The cellar was secure, the mystery was not.

“The creatures were dead. The basement was safe. The mystery was not.”

A Manor Full of Workers

If the morning had begun with monsters, the rest of the day belonged to guilds. Trollskull Manor had transformed from a haunted ruin into something much noisier: a construction site.

Carpenters measured beams. Plumbers argued with fixtures. Laborers hauled supplies through rooms that only weeks before had sat abandoned. Everywhere the party looked, someone was building, repairing, or debating the correct way to build or repair.

For the first time since acquiring the manor, it felt less like an abandoned mystery and more like a future business. It also felt considerably less peaceful, particularly because Squiddly had decided he was helping.

The Apprentice Who Was Learning

Nobody had hired Squiddly, nobody had assigned him duties, nobody had asked for assistance. Squiddly ignored all of those facts. One artisan complained that the boy had been following him for nearly ten minutes. When questioned, Squiddly simply replied: “I’m learning.”

“Nobody had hired Squiddly, nobody had assigned him duties, nobody had asked for assistance. Squiddly ignored all of those facts.”

It was difficult to argue with the results. The workers found him underfoot, they found him distracting, they found him suspiciously competent. At one point, a carpenter grudgingly admitted that the boy was actually holding the tools correctly. This admission seemed to upset him far more than if Squiddly had been doing everything wrong.

The manor had become a hive of activity, and somehow Squiddly had inserted himself directly into the center of it. Watching, asking questions, learning.

The workers might not have appreciated it; the adventurers found it hilarious.

The Man Behind the Bar

By evening, the rhythm of construction had become almost familiar. Almost. Because when the party finally turned their attention back toward the taproom, they discovered they were no longer alone.

Someone was sitting behind the bar. Not standing, not waiting. Sitting. Comfortably, as though he belonged there.

“Someone was sitting behind the bar. Comfortably, as though he belonged there.”

A bottle rested beside his elbow, several glasses sat neatly arranged before him. One was already full, another was being poured.

The man never seemed particularly concerned that he had entered a private business without invitation. Davil Starsong rarely seemed concerned about such things.

Before addressing the adventurers, he addressed the person he apparently considered most important: Squiddly.

The boy sat nearby, studying the visitor with open curiosity. Davil studied him right back. “You’ve got the look of someone who notices things.”

Squiddly’s response was immediate. “You didn’t knock.”

Davil smiled. “No.”

The exchange set the tone for everything that followed.

Silver Tongues and Black Networks

Davil had not come for drinks; he had come for business. For weeks, the party had heard whispers about the Zhentarim. Rumors, warnings, half-truths spoken in lowered voices.

Now one of Waterdeep’s most influential Zhentarim agents sat openly in their tavern and explained that the truth was far more complicated. The Black Network was no longer a single organization. It had fractured.

Some sought profit through stability, others sought power through fear. Some preferred agreements, others preferred intimidation.

“The Black Network was no longer a single organization. It had fractured.”

The city was caught between competing visions of what the Zhentarim should become, and somewhere in the middle stood Davil Starsong. Polite, charming, dangerous, and surprisingly honest about all three.

When questioned about trust, he offered no grand promises, no guarantees, no speeches about friendship. Only a simple answer: Not yet.

Watch what he did next. Then decide. It was perhaps the most trustworthy thing he could have said.

Murders in the Dock Ward

Eventually the conversation turned toward the true reason for Davil’s visit. The smile faded, the easy humor disappeared, and the room grew noticeably quieter.

Elf and half-elf sailors were being murdered in the Dock Ward.

“The smile faded, the easy humor disappeared, and the room grew noticeably quieter.”

Three already dead. The killings appeared targeted, deliberate, and increasingly difficult to ignore.

Davil wanted the murders investigated. Not because he claimed to be a hero, not because he expected gratitude, and certainly not because he pretended to be a saint. As he explained it, panic was bad for business.

But there was something else beneath the practical answer: a line had been crossed. And some lines should not be crossed simply because the city was dark enough to hide them.

The request was simple. Find out who was responsible. Stop them, before someone else did.

The Most Observant Person in the Room

At last, Davil finished his drink. Business concluded, questions answered. At least, the questions he wished to answer.

He rose from his seat and prepared to leave. Before he did, however, he paused beside Squiddly, the boy who had spent the day following craftsmen. The boy who wanted to learn everything. The boy who noticed far more than most adults gave him credit for.

Davil placed a small pin before him. A simple token, nothing more, nothing less, then he looked him in the eye. “Keep watching.”

For once, Squiddly was quiet. The moment lasted only a heartbeat, then Davil turned back toward the adventurers. A string of murders waited in the Dock Ward, a new mystery had arrived at their doorstep, and Waterdeep itself seemed to be inviting them into a game far larger than tavern renovations and guild inspections.

Without another word, Davil Starsong walked out the door, leaving the party with a mission, a warning, and the uncomfortable realization that they were no longer simply rebuilding Trollskull Manor. They were becoming part of the city.

“Keep watching.”

-Davil Starsong

Next Time in Waterdeep

A trail of murders leads the party into the Dock Ward, where whispers travel faster than the tide and danger waits in the shadows between lanterns.