Bats, Flying Snakes, Crows, Oh My! (City of Splendors #1)

Zloton,
 
Action! Excitement! I felt the risk of death! Do not worry. I have not hurt myself yet. It would be disrespectful of me to snatch away from you what you work so hard to achieve. I was careful, but why throw out adjectives when I could just start at the beginning?
 
So, we were sitting together at the Yawning portal, as we often did. Nettie did her performance. She is excellent, we'd only dream of getting that good a performer at either of our establishments. But I digress.
 
Not long after she had just sat down at our table did a loud shout rise above the usual commotion.
 
Someone shouted “have fun killing me mates, did you?” or something like that, with an insult thrown in I did not fully understand, but it must have been the height of disrespect for this female half orc tackled the offender to the ground and began to beat him up.
 
Naturally, everyone in the room rushed to crowd around and watch. Humans and our people are not too different in spirit, especially in a restaurant setting.
 
I tried to stand on my chair to see myself, but the crowd had grown too dense, so that was useless. I stayed where I was and just observed my companions. There is something amusing in how their reactions highlighted so perfectly their dispositions.
 
Nettie stayed with me, and looked to Durnan to see if he wanted her to do anything (she does work for him after all).
 
I will say, although I am no expert at the finer points of human body language, that to me, Durnan looked bored, which made me laugh. If only I could immortalize that expression of indifference.
 
What also provided amusement was Pete’s decision to use the distraction to cheerfully go around the room stealing everyone’s food by the plate. Durnan must have loose opinions on stealing because he made no show of protest.
 
Ristrien and Flynn were the only one who actually muscled their way through the crowds to see the fight. How they explained the situation to me, although I did not see for myself, is that a half orc woman was pummelling a man with interesting eye tattoos to the ground. He had four companions who were about to jump her to save him, and the violence was about to seriously escalate.
 
I’m not sure what Ristrien intended to do. She had the look of someone with a plan, but she seemed to decide against whatever the course of action was, and stayed her hand.
 
Flynn though loudly declared to everyone that he didn’t want any of them to get arrested and that if they just stopped fighting he would buy them all drinks to talk their issues over.
 
He convinced two of the eye tattoo man’s compatriots to stand down, but the half orc remained unmoved in her fury and kept up her assault.
 
Eventually, Flynn just straight up dragged her off him. And the eye tattoo guy and his group were escorted out by Durnan’s bouncers. Amusingly, the half orc *thanked* Flynn for stopping her, of course asking about that drink he promised.
 
Before he could fulfill his obligation, a troll came lumbering out of the well, reminding every patron where the Yawning Portal got its name. Unfortunately, that reminder proved too much for most people, and the establishment emptied in moments, while Durnan grabbed his sword and leapt over the counter to face the troll head on.
 
All my drinking companions stayed. Blind Pete’s reason was plain enough. He used the sudden absence of so many plate’s owners to pour whole plate portions into his mouth. I can’t imagine you get much of a sense for the flavor using that eating method, but it is efficient I’ll give him that.
 
As for me, I stayed because it was a glorious sight. I was going to see a legendary restaurateur (ex adventurer I know, but still) fight a troll. I was so excited. The troll was massive and fierce and as I looked at his teeth, I was wondering what he liked to eat. It was less of a mystery what the little bats covering him liked to eat. They were drinking his blood.
 
I guess some of them weren’t satisfied, because while Durnan distracted the troll, three of them detached themselves from the lumbering mass and flew to us. They were sort of like the bats at home, albeit much, much smaller. If they weren’t, you know, trying to kill us, I’d pet them.
 
As it was, I frost blasted one out of the sky and it shattered when it hit the ground. If anyone didn’t know I was a spellcaster before, they do now.
 
I saw Blind Pete looking for a weapon so I offered him my grandmother’s kitchen knife. Why did I offer a known thief a precious sentimental heirloom? Well, beyond my grandmother believing that you owned tools to be used and not to collect dust, beyond the risk of death in the air, I inexplicably had complete faith he’d return it. After all, if you can’t trust the people beside you in battle, you are already dead.
 
I was right. He took it and then dove for the frozen shards of bat meat that I had recently…“prepared”. Hehe. He stabbed the pieces, ate them, and then return the knife to me so that I could have a piece of the frozen bat, which I accepted.
 
I can hear your stomach churning even across space and time and death, and I dismiss your qualms for the narrowmindedness it is. I mean, think about it. When will I ever get the chance to taste meat from *Undermountain* again? This is precisely why I’m here. So naturally, I ate my fill.
 
It needed seasoning.
 
I would have recommended the same with regards to Flynn, who one of the bats decided to take a sip from.
 
Going by his expression, I can assume it wasn’t the most pleasant of sensations. Thankfully, Nettie was able to heal him later. As I told you, bardic magic!
 
During the battle proper, she tried to throw a net at one of the bats, but unfortunately missed. Now Ristrien, it seems, is a spellcaster. Turns out I was right to think her dangerous. She destroyed one of the bats by blasting it with purple spectral books and librarian stamps.
 
It was glorious.
 
Once the bats were dead, Durnan called upon us collect lamp oil, which some of us who I will not name almost threw at the creature while Durnan was fighting it. He yelled at us to wait till it was down.
 
Armed with knowledge of that plan, I turned my frost upon the troll, but before I could do any damage or Pete could hit it with a table as he clearly planned to do, Durnan brought it down.
 
We helped him drag the fallen form into the alley where we used the lamp oil and burned it. Good thing too. I could see its wound beginning to heal. Good for us, I suppose, but I could not help but imagine the pain it must have felt as it succumbed to oblivion. Flame is not a peaceful death. I know this well. Perhaps it is hypocrisy to inflict such agony on another. Certainly, I respect the creature too much to think it deserved that fate, whatever it has done or intended to do. You taught me to respect my adversaries, especially those that wish to kill me.
 
But there are other kinds of respect. I respect it enough to be a danger if its wounds healed, and so, necessity triumphs over empathy. As it usually does.
 
We returned to the Yawning Portal which as you can imagine looked like a troll had been through it. Since me being a wizard was not really a secret anymore, I cheerfully prestitigidated any soiled ground in my way, which the employees seemed to be appreciative of.
 
Flynn gave the half orc drink (she had not left. Good for her!) and she went off to a table to enjoy it. Durnan offered us all free drinks in fact, but we never got to enjoy them for we were then approached by a cheerful man with a floppy hat who introduced himself as “Volo Geddarm, celebrity whose penned many a fine tomes.”
 
Now, I later learned he is the author of the helpful guide I read upon entering this wondrous city, however I didn’t think to memorize the author’s name, so in the moment, I very much didn’t give him the reaction he was looking for. Most of us didn’t.
 
His disappointment over this general lack of fanfare was hilarious. Perhaps I should remain oblivious if it draws out such faces in people.
 
I’m kidding of course. My own curiosity would not allow that.
 
Volo congratulated our performance against the troll. I mean, all we did was fight bats *attached* to the troll, but I will hardly dissuade him from thinking otherwise.
 
He then just as quickly offered us a job finding a missing friend of his: Floon Blagmar. Flynn took charge of our impromptu interrogation. The details which are briefly these:
 
Floon is a noble from a house of unspectacular standing in his early 30s; he has wavy shoulder length hair and green eyes; he wore light indigo robes on the night of his disappearance.
 
The facts of the disappearance itself as Volo presents them:
 
Two nights ago, he himself met with Floon at the Skewered Dragon, which he helpfully said was on Net street and Fillet street
 
He parted with him, but feared in his careless drunkenness did not make it home. Gang related violence has recently surged and Volo suspected that it might be part of it.
 
Insight made me suspect he was holding something back, but that the gist of it was true. He offered us 500 dragons each for finding and returning Floon, giving us 10 dragons as advance if we took the job.
 
Gold is nice, for lately, I’ve come to see coin in terms of the meals suddenly open to me, and 500 dragons can get me any lawful taste in this city. It allows me to sample higher end ingredients and maybe even help bolster my business, such as it is.
 
But beyond that, even if Volo had not offered so much as a nib, I think I would still I have done it.
 
“Why?” I hear you scoff. Why waste my precious, uncertain, and rapidly fading time for no clear reward?
 
Well, your avarice is great indeed my dear, but perhaps your vanity will preen when I say that it is because of you.
 
I cannot forget the last time someone abruptly disappeared in my experience. Now, I am not so silly as to assume that this one will end in blood sacrifice to an unforgiving goddess, but even so, it would be immoral of me to not investigate the disappearance with the same passion just because the vanished has no familial investment this time. Its cause could be something on par or worse than what happened in that basement that I have grown so very fond of.
 
I cannot, in good conscience, put a blind eye to the possibility.
 
We all agreed to assist, for I assume a variety of reasons.
 
Before we left to investigate the Skewered Dragon, I decided to talk to the half orc, since she seemed to know something of “gang violence”.
 
Her name is Yagra. She asked me what I was, which I answered cheerfully, but she was not satisfied. In the end, I was forced to use the term “dragonborn”. Honestly, I do not understand why that is preferred. Is Thymari really so hard?
 
Anyway, I asked Yagra about the eye tattoo man she pummelled and specifically the eye tattoo’s.
 
Apparently they’re the symbol of Xanathar, which Ristrien kindly told me is an underground thieves guild thought to be eradicated but has recently made a resurgence.
 
I’m not sure knowing that will be of help, but I filed that away for future reference.
 
We left the Yawning Portal and made our way toward the Skewered Dragon.
 
It’s in the Dock Ward, which is a *much* worse part of town. Smashed lanterns, seedy buildings, you name it.
 
I mean, we passed by a massacre of a dozen people just on the way. The City Watch shooed us off, but I saw them arresting several people covered in blood.
 
Gang violence escalation indeed,
 
We passed a shop known as the Old Xoblob shop. I’m the one that ended up convincing the group to check it out.
 
It smelled of lavender, Zloton. The *magic curio* shop smelled of *lavender*. Naturally, I was duty bound to ask the man inside, a gnome gentleman, if he had any magic lavender, which he did, but upon investigation, it looked nothing like mine. I asked if he recognized my seeds, which he did not. I asked if he knew if they were magical. He had no idea. He offered to give me a twenty percent discount on his items for them when I said they were from Abeir. I told him I’d think about it, but honestly, my life is short, I’m not going to part with something so sacred for such a minor monetary gain. You don’t walk through fire for a twenty percent discount on anything in a curio shop. No disrespect, fine gnomish sir.
 
He did look at me strangely when I admitted the origin though. Asked if I was from some city that I had never heard of. Shame I didn’t remember the name. Should have asked Ristrien about it.
 
My companions asked more on topic questions about whether he had seen Floon two nights ago. Upon giving the gnome a description, it turned out he *had*. Floon was walking away from the Skewered Dragon with another man that looked vaguely like Floon himself, but then a gang jumped them in front of his store and lead them back in the direction of the Skewered Dragon.
 
This gang apparently had tattoos of a flying snake, which apparently means they’re with the Zantarim. I am told they are a black network of information, using trained flying snakes as messengers. They also train mercenaries.
 
Armed with this insight on what actually happened after Floon left the Skewered Dragon, we went to the Skewered Dragon itself to get more context.
 
It’s pretty rundown. Lots of broken windows and tired sailors. That kind of thing. It got me contemplative. Sailors are often far from home and their family cooking. I wonder if they miss it as they drink from those well worn tankards. If I knew what taste they so longed for, I would surely have given it to them. I don’t know. Perhaps the Skewered Dragon knows how to provide relief. If we had not been burdened with important business I would have asked about their menu.
 
Now what I am about to relay is the truth. This I solemnly swear upon my ancestors. Perhaps not so solemnly. I am giddy just thinking about it.
 
So, I was relatively quiet. No one likes to be interrogated by a stranger, especially a foreigner from an unheard of land, but bardic interrogation is something else. Nettie got the bartender to *sing* with her. People in this Tavern *sang* with this small bundle of joy. He chose a very rowdy song that he clearly expected her not to know. Imagine his shock when she matched each obscene verse. At the end someone said, “Does your mother know you sing such songs?” or something like that. She responded to the effect of “That’s why I left home” which got her a hearty laugh. She offered the barkeep a music box and he tried to play off his naked enthusiasm, said he’d probably sell it.
 
Having utterly ingratiated herself with the entire bar, she nonchalantly, with the epitome of cheer, asked if anyone knew about Floon or Volo two nights ago.
 
With the help of the whole bar, this is what we learned.
 
Yes, Floon and Volo had been there two nights ago. Volo then left and Floon then talked with someone named Renaer Neverember. I am told he is the son of a Dagolt Neverember, who apparently was the previous Open Lord. You know, the one the current Open Lord *deposed*. So that’s interesting on its own merits, but I digress. They left, and our previous stop at the Old Xolob Shop told us what happened afterwards.
 
The patrons at the Skewered Dragon also noted that a group had been eyeing them during their talk and left when they did. After a question clarifying flying snake tattoos, they confirmed that they were Zantarim. They also told us where to find a hideout of theirs! Apparently their symbol is under the doorknob of a door on a warehouse in Candle Lane.
 
So naturally we left to investigate that. I heard the music box play as we left. What a lovely group of people. I do hope you gave me time to return and speak with them, Zloton.
 
While in the tavern, I had scanned to see if anyone there looked like a Zantarim upset that they were asking questions and would warn the rest about their investigation. Thankfully, I found none that made me think so. If that impression holds true, that means they aren’t aware of us, which is a comforting thought.
 
Candle lane is aptly named. We found the warehouse in question at the end of it and it was lit by a single lantern by the door.
 
We deliberated a *long* time.
 
None of us trusted that lantern. It struck us as...unnatural. I wasn't sure what would happen if we stepped into the light. Maybe it would trigger an alarm?
 
With that thought, I spent our time loitering in the darkness setting up a mental alarm, so that when we did eventually go in, if any Zantarim returned to their hideout unexpectedly I would know.
 
Blind Pete reminded me to exempt any rats I saw or else I would hear that mental ringing every minute. There were a *lot* of rats. Which was perfect for us. Pete's mighty Baron agreed to scout out the warehouse for us and the moment he scampered off Pete's shoulders, it became clear the guess that he saw through those beady eyes was a correct one. He was suddenly unsteady, using *me* for support. The irony of using someone as frail as me for steadiness was not lost on me, I assure you. I kept my amusement somewhat in check however. I did not want him to think my humor was due to his frailty when I was in reality laughing at my own. After all, mocking someone for difficulty in walking seems a bit hypocritical, don't you think?
 
He relayed to us what the Baron saw.
 
The Zantarim, at least those that were within the warehouse, were dead. These avian like assassin creatures killed them in what looked like, based on the dozen body count made up of both sides, a costly battle. I wonder if the dozen people massacred earlier are related. Hmm, I'll have to think about it.
 
An examination of the dead, based on the insight a rat can provide, shows that none of them was Floon. He went upstairs, searching all the rooms, even finding a door with some sort of bell trap, but he found no evidence of either captured nobles.
 
However, what was in there were four of these avian assassins, currently busying themselves with looting the place.
 
Based on the description Pete relayed, Ristrien suspects them to be Kenku.
 
Her explanation of them interests me. Apparently they have no sense of creativity or original thought. Even their very words are just repetitions of what other people in their hearing have said.
 
My first instinct, learning this, is to feel sorrow, for imagine not being able to bring into the world something new. I imagine being unable to invent my own recipes, capable of only imitating what those before have done, and I shudder.
 
But then again, perhaps I'm thinking about this from the wrong angle. I only feel the loss because I know the ecstasy of achieving heights only I could dream to reach. They have not nor will ever know the concept, so they have no reason to feel sorrow. And being an imitation is no slander. To say otherwise would be more hypocrisy. After all, is it not my whole purpose of being, my whole tireless search, explicitly memorizing and imitating all the flavors that I encounter? Creativity not required.
 
And I wholly admit not to be perfect for my sacred task. If these folks really are as excellent at imitation as Ristrien says, what remarkably precise chefs they'd make. Their very nature lends itself to my great undertaking. If one of them knows prestidigitation, they'd be better at it than me!
 
I would very much like to speak to Kenku not interested in killing me. Perhaps, they would be interested in joining my quest. And if I could find someone to carry on my work after this precious time of mine runs out...none of this would be in vain. I'll have to ask around and see if I can find any.
 
But that is an avenue of thought for tomorrow, if you let me see it's sunrise. I have gotten carried away. What was I writing about?
 
Ah, yes. The Kenku who murdered the Zantarim we intended to confront. They, probably anyway, are not involved in the kidnapping of Floon, but they may have been here when Floon was here. And if they really can repeat back everything they hear, perhaps they can repeat back what the Zantarim said of Floon.
 
That means not killing them, which pleases me. They'd make much better chefs than rotting corpses anyway.
 
But that first means sneaking up on them and they are on high alert. They even noticed the Baron. They did not act on his presence because there were many rats they assumed he was like any other.
 
I am not so foolish. The Baron returned to Pete and Nettie fed him some cheese, which he seemed pleased with. Pete nonchalantly cut his finger and offered Raticus his own blood, which he lapped up eagerly.
 
I know not what to make of that. If I get a chance to reflect, I'll give it more thought.
 
And just like that I'm distracted again. That's what an exciting evening will do to you.
 
What was I—oh. I remember. We had to burst in on them before they had a chance to hide, which of course means knocking down the door, a plan that apparently the Baron was championing from the start.
 
Pete volunteered and to help him I used the contents from my waterskin to freeze the hinges.
 
Nettie gave us a motivational poem about a rat defeating a cat, and I don't know about you but I was pretty motivated by that. I wish I remember how it goes. I'd transcribe it here so I could enjoy it's cadence once more. Alas. Curse my memory that is so consumed with filing away every flavor ever to brush my tongue that I can't recall a pleasing verse.
 
Anyway, Pete was very, very motivated and channeling her spirit, he kicked down the door. He and Flynn rushed in, fending off two, while I put the other two asleep.
 
Yes. I know. The spell I used to help my grandmother sleep just became useful in a *fight*. I'm laughing even as I think about it.
 
Ristrien fired more of those spectral books, Pete stabbed with a knife and Flynn and Pete took some appreciated hits for the team, but eventually the other two assassins fell.
 
I write this as the remaining two Kenku peacefully dose and we all catch our breath.
 
I think it likely we should tie them up. I have some rope, but maybe someone else has something better. We'll be waking them up soon, and then we'll see if we can't learn a few things about Floon’s whereabouts.
 
Assuming you do not visit me or the Kenku do not stab me or the Zantarim do not come in force or, or, or...hehe. You get the idea. Baring my doom, I’ll write again soon.