Trolling for the Troll of Trolltide at Trollskull (City of Splendors #8)

I first must apologize. I have been neglecting my record keeping, delaying more like it, ironic I know. It was you, after all, who taught me to delay nothing and seize the precious time I have. And yet, I have held back and spent the time wondering what to write.
 
I started this journal years ago with the promise to myself that whatever I write in it would be true to me. Nothing would be concealed, so that when this last memento of me fell in your possession, the record of how I lived, joyously and without fear or illusion, could not ever be called into question. And in all this time, I have that promise and never deliberately concealed myself in these pages.
 
But that will have to start today, because although you may have a right to my secrets, you have no right to the secrets I keep for others, especially the secrets of the leader of a City.
 
So, I will not write all the details that Lateral Silverhand laid before us. And concealing that from you feels scandalous, but actually telling you would be more so. It would be a betrayal of Waterdeep’s security. Because and please take it as a compliment and not an insult when I say this, but you *are* a threat to Waterdeep's security.
 
What I will say is that our meeting with her was a pleasant one. There was much hugging. Nettie even gave out a unicorn themed music box, which Mirt found well themed.
 
Mirt had other things to do, so he left us, going out the normal door and not the closet for once.
 
And just like that, we were alone with her.
 
Ristrien noticed something interesting. Laeral’s hair was not just the color silver, it was the *metal* silver. It went to the floor and seemed to move on its own. I wonder what uses she has with animated hair. Self defense?
 
I doubt she needs hair to defend her. Ristrien was telling me about her. She's legendary, chosen of Mystra, possibly even her daughter. Obviously a true spellcaster of epic proportions. She was the wife of a Blackstaff of centuries ago. (You know, the one who made the statues around the city). Her husband has been dead and she had been absent from the city for a long time. She's only returned recently, becoming Open Lord three years ago. I'm sure I mentioned some of this earlier, but I felt like it was reasonable to reiterate, for my own memory if not yours.
 
So she and her husband used to be Harpers. Do you know about the Harpers? I mean, you probably do. You’re kind of my expert on secretive organizations. But this one can’t be all that secret because I was the only one in our group who had no idea what they were.
 
Basically, they’re a shadowy organization devoted to fighting evil or something. I'm not sure I completely understand, but they don't seem to have a huge religious component, so they already make more sense than the Bahumat Zealots.
 
Don't worry, I haven't joined them. They wouldn't have much use for a chef anyway.
 
Mirt is a harper. Did you know that? I find that information... interesting.
 
Silverhand and Mirt appear to have an understanding. He informs her on things, I think. Especially on the city streets.
 
You remember the urchin girls, the ones that worked for Mirt during the coup and then disappeared? Silverhand said not bring it up. Their loss hit him pretty hard, which may be the most relatable thing I've learned about him so far.
 
Sorry, got off topic
 
Bottom line, I need to learn more about the Xanathar vs. Zentarim gang war going on. For reasons I won't discuss with you.
 
She gave us some information on them. Zentarim used to work in the heartlands but now in the last decade has moved into the Storm Coast and Waterdeep. Zentarim are also historically enemies of the Harpers.
 
Xanathar apparently is a Beholder. I mean, in retrospect, that makes sense—it explains why that gazer was in the sewers—but still.
 
We are dealing with a gang run by a Beholder. You know, maybe I will die before we see each other again after all.
 
I joke of course. I would never be so discourteous, but the point stands. If it's a Beholder pulling the strings, walking into the lair for Floon was even dumber than it already was.
 
But I am no one if I'm not picking fights with people above my pay grade, as you well know, so the fact that I have a feeling we're going back there doesn't overly concern me.
 
Why? Well, it's possible the people being kidnapped is related in some way. Pete brought it up. Silverhand apparently didn't know about it, which I suppose makes sense. Sadly, only someone like Pete would notice them missing. But Silverhand seemed genuinely concerned, and for that, Pete hugged her, though there seemed to be some magic actually preventing contact.
 
Pete rambled on about saving the kidnapped people and driving cats from the city.
 
Silverhand took that mandate with good humor saying dryly “some of those I want to achieve.”
 
I think Silverhand may actually like Pete. At least, he said something that made me hear the faintest laughter in the air. Although now that I think about it, it may not actually have come from Silverhand. If not, then where it could have come from is an alarming question.
 
Anyway, we left her with much newfound understand and a way to communicate with her later if the need is dire.
 
That was almost a tenday ago, I know, but we’ve been so busy here that I’ve barely had time to think. Mirt gave us the money, all 2000 dragons worth, and we intend to spend it well.
 
So it seems like it will take 1,100 more dragons to renovate the tavern, something we’re in the process of now, 250 dragons for guild licenses and contracts paid up front. One of the guilds is the Fellowship of Innkeepers, which I’ll be officially joining. I’m so excited! I’ll be recorded in their books as a proprietor and everything.
 
We’ll also be dealing with The Guild of Butchers, Baker's Guild, the Fishmonger's Fellowship, the Council of Farmer-Grocers, and The Vintners', Distillers', and Brewers' Guild. That last one will be an interesting one. We’ll need a license from them to sell drinks. The North Ward guild representative is a man named Hammond Kraddoc. They say he’ll be coming by once a month to inform us of the newest spirits the guild has to offer and arrange shipments. We don’t necessarily have to take their recommendations though, which brings me to Frewn’s Breweries.
 
I’ve mentioned them before, I think. They are the brewery that seemed to open suspiciously around the time we moved in. They don’t seem to employ thymari so I don’t think it has anything to do with me specifically, at least, I hope not. They might just be Xanathar or Zentarim thugs scheming our destruction. Is it wrong that I find that theory more comforting than alternatives?
 
Regardless, I really think I need to go talk to them directly. Perhaps we can buy our stock directly from them and generate camaraderie instead of rivalry. I do not want to fight over customers. That leads to...well, you know what that leads to and I have no interest in spending the remainder of my life dealing with that.
 
We have regular expenses to deal with without setting aside a fund for malicious property damage. By guild estimates, every tenday will cost 50 dragons for maintenance, 10 dragons for all other guild expenses and 1 or more dragons for broadsheets and criers advertisement.
 
We still need to hire people. We can go through the fellowship for a fee, but my Grandmother always said one should take a hands on approach when finding help. You remember when I told you about that one waitress who ran off with the minstrel and that week's wages? Yeah, some cousin referred her to us. What a circus of idiocy. I don’t know, maybe the fellowship has better sense than my cousin, but I’m not sure if I would go that way, but all that can wait. The matter at hand is time sensitive.
 
So, Zloton. Do you know of Trolltide? I remember reading something about it in the travel guide, but from my experience, reading of something is very different to experiencing it.
 
It began centuries ago, to commemorate when the first Blackstaff repelled hordes of trolls. Basically, they burn giant troll effigies and kids dress up in troll masks and demand treats from houses. If they are unsatisfied by what you give them, it is apparently socially acceptable for them to play tricks on you.
 
It's a big deal, going by Nat, Jenks, and Squiddly. They take the whole affair enthusiastically seriously. Leading us all to discover that Nat is very good at making troll masks out of scrap leather she finds. It was impressive.
 
We pulled all our skillsets for the occasion. I made fried apples treats to hand out at our front door, Pete plans to hand out dubious jerked meats at the back door.
 
And tonight is the night! It’s been drizzling and fogging, which seems appropriate for the atmosphere.
 
Nat, Jenks, and Squiddly came by early. Nat should be proud. Their masks looked wonderful.
 
Nettie should be proud too. She gave each of the kids a Troll music box. Jenks asked if they moved and was delighted to discover that the trolls would fight each other if you wound up the box.
 
More trolls seem to be approaching. I'm going to have my hands full in a moment. I'll give an update when I can.
 
Dear me, I have quite an update. My heart is not quite back to normal.
 
I guess I should start by saying my fried apples treats were well received. No tricks were played upon me. With that said, a gang of young ones wanted to rough me up anyway, but Pete disguised himself as a real troll and chased them away.
 
What a great friend.
 
Speaking of him, he was very popular tonight. He apparently was giving kids liquor or something from the back door and word travelled fast. He had quite the line queued up.
 
A woman across the street gave less satisfactory treats and got a rat thrown at her for her trouble. Naturally, Pete thought they were “paying great honor to her.”
 
Alright, with all the traditional Trolltide details recorded, let's talk about that happened.
 
A Ten foot tall troll effigy was being burned. They were rolling it down Saerdoun street, a loud crowd following it. Just as it reached our building, an old white haired man tore down in horror and we soon learned why.
 
A Troll, a *real one*, was chasing him. It had a ball and chain dangling from its limbs and a metal helmet bolted over its eyes, blinding it. But it could smell.
 
The crowds scattered before it. The old man it had been chasing fell and Ristrien teleported to him to help him up. Teleported! The spell smelled like an old library and it sounded like the binding of a book snapping closed.
 
Appropriate, I know. But it was a good thing she did. On closer inspection, the man was clearly a softened noble that wouldn’t survive a single blow from a real troll. Most people wouldn't I suppose. Thankfully, most people had fled.
 
The only people who remained was us, the old man, and a young foreign lady reading sign who didn't see the commotion or approaching troll. Nettie shouted to get her attention, which got her to duck just as the troll swiped for her head.
 
A troll had emerged from the Yawning Portal only a few weeks ago. Back then, we had Durnan. Now we had to deal with it ourselves.
 
Pete put on his Rat cloak just as I hit the thing with frost. I can hit a blind side of a barn as it turns out.
 
So could Flynn. He shot a firebolt at the thing. I wonder if it was a temperature shock.
 
Nettie missed with her sling just as Pete pulled out his warpick and ate one of those rage berries, shouting something about “Troll skewering”
 
Flynn followed that advice and stabbed, but the troll seemed to heal a lot of the damage off. The thing flailed, barely missing Flynn. But it was blinded by the metal over its eyes, which gave Nettie an idea.
 
I had no idea her music possessed this kind of power, but she magically heated the metal covering its eyes, and that burned it. You could hear the real pain in its cries.
 
It was horrible to hear. I never shared your pleasure in watching pain, and especially not so when I know precisely how that sort of burn feels. I hoped then that we killed it quickly, for the sake of the city as well as the troll.
 
Ristrien’s spectral book crashed over its head, Pete’s warpick struck, even I managed to hit it with my frost. Flynn's fire bolt made contact and this time the troll could not heal the damage. It missed Pete and roared at the burning in its eyes once more. Nettie took a shot with her sling and Ristrien’s stamp finally took the troll down.
 
We pushed the burning troll effigy to the real troll and I suppose there is an irony in watching them burn together.
 
There was definitely an irony in the City Watch only showing up then, after we had already eliminated the threat. They needed the remains for processing, but we wanted to keep the skull. Our place was called Trollskull Manor after all.
 
There was an amusing dichotomy between Flynn who persuaded them that us having the skull was a good idea because Pete, still coming down from his high, looked murderous.
 
His glare was effective motivation. We got to keep the skull. Maybe we’ll mount it on our wall and make it talk with magic or Nettie's tinkering.
 
Perhaps it was a good thing the City Watch was so tardy. Defeating the troll might end up being excellent publicity. The white haired noble that Ristrien saved turned out to be Bromis Than, a noble with many connections to the vinter industry.
 
He was *very* thankful and sang our praises all night long, so I think we have a potential contact to get some of our drinks from.
 
The girl that Nettie saved was young, I believe 15 years is the human number for such development. She was dark haired, olive skinned, and had broken common, but she was very thankful.
 
She is more of a mystery, but that will have to wait. My guests are calling to me.
 
I will write again, if you let me.