For the past several months, and for the several more months into the future Neverwinter has seen, and will see consistent growth. Shops, taverns, and hotels of all shapes and size are going in as fast as the people arriving to work and populate them. There are more transplanted citizens in Neverwinter then Native hold outs at this point. The Wintershield guard, constantly looking to fill its ranks with more help, is over worked, and under staffed. The need for citizens to fill the ranks, has started to hurt the quality of the recruits. What started as a strict routine of strong young peoples, has passed into aged individuals and now passes into fat lazy guards. Even worse, their screening process has lessoned also, many guards seem to be feeling the ranks that have other allegiances that conflict with the duties of the Watch. But, from orders of Neverember, the watch continues hiring. The Lord of Neverwinter simply stating, and believing, citizens feel more comfortable seeing all the Watchmen walking around, even though in reality the quality lacks.

Commander of the Watch, and also Warden of Neverwinter, Arnold Alagondar, second most powerful man in the Neverwinter, and leader of the extreme nationalist group the Sons of Alagondar. Openly hates and disagrees with the command of Lord Neverember, believed that only age requirements should have been lowered, that fitness, skill, and screening practices should never had been decreased. It is openly know that Major, Captain, and Lieutenant positions are only given to those that have family, or have been part of the nationalist group. At the sergeant, and constable levels and last ranks of authority, he does all he can to keep them within the nationalist party, but with the growing size of the watch is are pressed. There is a rumor floating around the city and within the watch, of an inquisition that Warden Commander Arnold is putting together to root out the corrupt watchmen, with extreme prejudice.

But, the drama, and gossip of the Watch plays little into the daily lives of the commoners. Doing their best to make a living. The Nobles, have already secured the better sections of the City, with old family names, that for the past several years lived in there estates and villas in the country, are moving back into the city. The Neverwinter Academy is also betting repaired, and staffed with a buzz of enthusiasm from arcane, and divine casters, and marital classes alike.

With all the movement of people, and new places, opportunities for the underbelly of Neverwinter have spread like weeds. Currently there are no large, typical Sword Coast guilds that have officially moved in claiming territory. Instead, the city is a current of warring gangs, mafias, and aspiring guilds. It seems each week a new organization has taken claim of a block, only to be destroyed or absorbed the following week. But, in this current, the single criminal seems the most at risk, without a team to back them, and not know who to turn to in times of trouble, its get with a group or be washed away.

Each of you find yourselves in jail. Each for their own reason, and none of those reasons serious, at least this time. You expect a fine to be slapped on you, get released in a day or two and go on our marry way. In your cell there are five others, each with their own stories to tell...


(yes there are seven players, one is not in the cell)
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:51, Fri 15 Sept 2023.

The Neverwinter Prison occupies a converted warehouse on a small hill between the Tower and Black Lake Districts in Neverwinter. It is surrounded by a wooded palisade and features cells on the ground floor as well as the basement. And when Bohruk Brinehammer had arrived at the prison, everyone on the grounds and the surrounding area had known it.

Despite being shackled at both wrist and ankle, the towering Orc thrashed and kicked at the guards that dragged him along. Bellowing a warcry that would have done King Obould I Many-Arrows proud, and cursing out the guards with all manner of inventive and improbable anatomical combinations and parentage, he didn't make his transfer to a cell easy. Despite the fact that his sentence would be at most a tenday in a cell, and maybe some lashes, the iron-bound pirate fought with all the tenacity of a Rashemaar berserker. Apparently he wasn't one to go quietly.

However, as soon as he was locked in the cell, the Burly Orc ceased his struggles and roars, and actually seemed to relax. This wasn't the first time the pirate had been in a cell for brawling in a tavern, and it wouldn't be the last. The dank stone floor was almost the same in all prisons, which was almost comforting in its familiarity. And after a few moments of sniffing around for the least urine-filled corner of the cell, the green mountain of muscle flopped heavily upon the ground and seemed to doze for a time.

But the next day, he soon grew bored. It didn't take long for him to break out bawdy sea shanties to entertain himself. He'd run through all of the most well known. Today, his latest song was not as well known, but Bohruk sang it with all the tuneless enthusiasm that he had sung every other song. Despite his lack of skill in songcraft, the Orc apparently didn't so anything half-assed.

"I had jus' come home 'n I took a cabin,
I was all settled down t' recline,
When I saw a delectable maid go by,
T' the cabin next door t' mine
Like the bold Alkazaar then,
I set out t' explore,
'n I took up me position by
The keyhole on the door!

The keyhole in the door,
Me whelps, the keyhole in the door,
I took up me position
By the keyhole in the door!

She first took off her slippers,
Her dainty feet t' show,
'n then she took her panties off
And revealed her so-'n-so,
'n when she stretched out on her cot,
I couldn't stand no more,
'twas one, two, three, I turned the key
In the keyhole in the door!

The keyhole in the door,
Me whelps, the keyhole in the door,
I took up me position
By the keyhole in the door!

She didn' say a single word.
But she took me in her arms,
'n pretty soon I was much engaged,
In chartin' all her charms
But jus' in case some other sailor'd
See the sights I saw,
I hung me trousers right above
The keyhole in the door!

The keyhole in the door,
Me whelps, the keyhole in the door,
I took up me position
By the keyhole in the door!

That night I rode in glorious style,
'n other things besides,
'n on her lily white stomach, Whelps,
I had such lovely rides
But when I woke next mornin', Whelps,
Me instrument was sore
As if I had been usin' it
On the keyhole in the door!

The keyhole in the door,
Me whelps, the keyhole in the door,
I took up me position
By the keyhole in the door!

Be warned by this, young sailormen
And listen unto me,
Wha' I caught then, no fishermen
Have ever caught at sea
Beware the pox, the hidden rocks,
That lie in wait ashore,
It's safer far t' bend yer spar
In the keyhole in the door!

The keyhole in the door,
Me whelps, the keyhole in the door,
I took up me position
By the keyhole in the door!"

At the end of the song, Bohruk bellowed a deep belly-laugh, enjoying his own song about that romantic misadventure. The glint of his golden tusk flashed in the dim cell, as an amused grin crossed his face. Seemingly done for the moment, the towering corsair crossed his tattooed arms and leaned back against the stone wall, humming the tune of the song he had just finished.

As the late afternoon sun began casting shadows over the city of Neverwinter, Varas emerged from the labyrinthine alleyways that crisscrossed the urban sprawl.  His sun-kissed, almond-shaped eyes possessed an ever-watchful gleam, framed by a cascade of ebony hair that tumbled down to his shoulders.

Dressed in a tailored ensemble of supple, dark gray leathers, his attire was adorned with intricate silver embroidery, marking him as an envoy. One of the common folk employed by a noble, and sent about to conduct business on their behalf. The look was topped with a lustrous, black velvet ascot.

His footsteps were barely audible on the cobblestone streets as he approached the imposing palisade of the city's notorious hilltop prison.

His dark cloak billowed in the evening breeze.  A small chest clutched tightly in his gloved hand held the key to his plans tonight - a collection of glistening gold coins and gems that shone and glimmered in the fading light. These coins were the currency of his ambition, the means to an end that would further the interests of his lord, Duke Corriver.

The prison loomed before him, its foreboding presence etched into the very stones of the walls. It was a place where the forgotten and the forsaken languished, a place where lives were broken and futures extinguished.

The half-elf felt the reassuring heft of the small, weighty chest and the coins that it contained.

Freedom, it turned out, like most things ... had a cost.

"Hullo, the gate."  He called out, to get the attention of the guard.

Brol Denton wasn't here long and didn't pay much attention to his cellmates. Why was he here? For a certain incident that the authorities chose to clasify as a robbery.

What had actually happened that someone offended him and Brol decided that he needed to be taught a lesson. And after administering that lesson, he took his coin pouch as compensation the trouble the fool caused him. Unfortunately, the guards were at wrong place at the wrong time and now, he was here.

He briefly thought about the maximum possible punishment if the charges stick. A month of hard labor and a fine of 500 gp, plus whatever the stolen goods were worth. He wouldn't get that. As a former member of the city watch, he had some idea as to what the potential punishment could be.

He didn't injure the man, just scared him nearly to death. He surrendered to the guards peacefully and also surrendered his prize, the coin pouch. He could've decorated the ground with their entrails, resist and fight. And once, he might've done it. But he has since grown wiser as well as more powerful.

At most, he was looking at 10 days of Hard Labor, maybe less than that considering the circumstances. And only if the magistrate finds him guilty. He was looking forward to his day in court, in fact. He could be quite persuasive when he wanted to be.

On the other side of the cell, that orc was singing his tune. Once, Brol would've been annoyed by his singing. Once, it might have ended in a brawl. That Brol was a fool. A weak fool. But ever since he became a follower of Bane, he became more dangerous. Once a blunt instrument, aimless in the world, now he was a sharpened weapon wielded with purpose. And ready to take revenge on those who crossed him...
This message was last edited by the player at 00:15, Sun 17 Sept 2023.

Within the cell towards the back was a unusual sight. The lithe woman leaned against the wall, her form-fitting robe enhancing her figure rather than conceal it. Standing almost six feet tall, her pointed ears betrayed her elven heritage, though it was obvious she was only half elf. But, unlike most who had warm tone of skin, hers was pale to the point of almost having a hint of grey sheen. Her Blue/green eyes held an edge of danger and malice as she looked at the men in her cell with an appraising look.

Lyania hadn't been there long, but she expected more. Her crime was protecting a child. When a sleazy merchant came upon a girl, suggesting she come home to 'entertain' him, of course she was going to step in. That in itself wasn't a crime.

....Threatening to cut his manhood off when he was the brother of a high ranking noble seems it was.

But either way, her goal was achieved. The girl was free of the man, and seeing him piss himself when the beautiful woman threatened him was just icing on the cake.

Lyania looked at the orc with a frown at his singing and shook her head. "Really....is that the best song you know?" She leaned her back against the wall. "Pirate." she muttered

Blinking his amber eyes in surprise at actually being addressed by his fellow cell-mates, Bohruk glanced over at the pale girl of elvish heritage and considered her words. Then a wicked grin slowly spread over his face, and the flash of his golden tusk sparked in the dark again.

"That sounds like a challenge..." he rumbled.

And then the guttural bawdy shanties began again.

"As I walked out one evenin' upon a night's career,
I spied a lofty clipper ship 'n t' her I did steer.
She hoisted up her sig-a-nals which I so handsomely knew,
'n when she saw me buntin' up she immediately hove to.
She had a dark 'n a rovin' eye, 'n her hair hung downs in ring-a-lets.
She was a nice lass, a decent poppet, but one o' the rakish kind.

"Oh sir, won't ye excuse me fer stayin' out so late,
'n if me elders heard o' this, then sad would be me fate.
Me cap'n, he's a minister, a good 'n righteous scallywag,
Me mother she's a Ilmatari; I do the best I can."
She had a dark 'n a rovin' eye, etc.

I eyed that poppet both up 'n down fer I'd heard such natter afore,
'n when she moored herself t' me I knew she was a strumpet.
But still she was a pretty lass; she shyly hung her head.
"I'll go along wit' ye, me lad," was wha' t' me she said.

I took her t' a tav-er-in 'n treated her wit' wine.
Wee did I reckon that she was one o' the rakish kind.
I handled her, I dandled her, and much t' me surprise,
Turns out she was a fireship rigged up in a disguise.

So up the stairs and into bed I took that maiden fair.
I fired off me carronade into her thatch o' hair.
I fired off a broadside 'til me shot was spent,
Then rammed that fireship's waterline 'til me ram was bent.

Then in the mornin' she was gone, me Danter was gone too.
My clothes she'd hocked, my watch she pilfered, my seabag bid adieu.
But she'd left behind a souvenir, I'd 'ave ye all t' know.
And in nine days, t' my surprise, thar was fire down below.

So come all ye good whaler whelps that sail the wintry seas,
And come all ye good sailor whelps, a warnin' take by me:
Beware o' lofty clipper ships, they'll be the ruin o' ye,
Fer she nah only made me walk the plank, she set fire t' me mainmast, too."

The poor - in more ways than one - creature slumped in one corner. He was unhappy with his predicament, but he was dry at least in the cell. He had been given some food, which was better than going hungry, which sometimes happened on the street.

He didn't yet dare to just try to escape or summon his friend. Either one, if discovered, would give away that he was no ordinary being. It might earn him different punishment or confinement. It might earn him something else unpleasant, so he tried to wait with as much patience as he could muster to see if he would get released from the prison in the near future.

When the song first started, Speck seemed interested, but that quickly passed and he grew bored with it, muttering quietly under it. When the second song started he clapped both hands over his ears and yelled, "Please stop!" He curled up tighter in a ball.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:28, Sun 17 Sept 2023.

Brol couldn't help but laugh when he noticed the reaction of that... thing to the orc's singing. What was it anyway, some really ugly gnome? "Really? Singing's all it takes to send you into this state? Pathetic." Brol said without bothering to hide his disgust. "I suggest you shape up quickly or you won't last long here." he then said, intending it as some rather well-meaning advice by his standards for that... creature. "Or anywhere, really." he then added with a shrug and a smirk and then returned to his thoughts.

Lyania looked at the orc man and couldn't help but smile. The loud, rowdy music wasn't much to her liking, but the small creature was disturbed by it and (more importantly) it gained a reaction from the human.

She clapped her hands, slowly and looked at him. "A bit rough for my liking, but none the less, it breaks the monotony in this drab place."

She then looked at Brol with a serious look. Though she agreed with the human to some degree, his lack of tact put her on edge. She had seen many an arrogant man before, and though the pathetic creature did need a lesson in life, the human needed one in humility.

She crossed her arms. "So...your the expert on what something can and cannot do - judging by what you see. Rather narrow-minded." She stood up and straightened her robe. "Yes, the singing was a bit...." She hesitated, then continued. ".... rambunctious and not to all peoples liking, but you judge this creature because he hates music." She crosses her arms.

"Maybe try to judge less....this'pathetic fool' as you put it may just save your life one day."

She looked then to Speck. "Oh, get up....he is right in that if a song makes you do this, you may not survive."

Valen leaned back against the cold stone wall, the prison's dim light emphasizing the sharp contrast of his jet-black hair against his pale skin. His deep blue eyes, ever observant, darted between the cell's occupants. As a half-elf, he possessed a natural grace that stood out even in a place as bleak as this. His fingers, restless and telling, traced the undiscernible outline on the floor.

Across the cell was Denton, an old acquaintance. The man had undergone a transformation since their days in the city watch. What had led him down this new path? Valen's mind buzzed with theories.

The boisterous orc with his distracting songs, was a welcome presence. While most inmates might have found him obnoxious, Valen saw an opportunity—the louder Bohruk was, the more he could operate unnoticed.

The self-righteous elf, on the other hand, seemed keen on schooling Denton about making assumptions. Yet, she was guilty of the same.

Valen's gaze then settled on the small figure who had drawn Denton's ire. What was he?

Every time Valen found himself locked up, he was surrounded by a cast of intriguing characters. This time was no different.

Finally he spoke, "Denton - it's been a while."