Creamsteak
Explorer
Rising from the shores of its deep harbor to ring the great mountain standing tall out of the Sea of Swords is Waterdeep, the City of Splendors and the Crown of the North. To all of Faerfun, this great metropolis stands as the pinnacle of what a great city might be, in wealth, influence, and stability. Here, the citizens work, the nobles sneer, and the great masked lords plot and scheme, all while merchants dance between them to collect their coins and continue profiting as best they can. Waterdeep's shops and merchants offer goods of every sort from every corner of Toril, and even the rarest of items can be procured, given sufficient coin and patience. Adventurers lacking one or the other can very easily find all manner of employment, from simple escorting of caravans, to guarding nobility, to investigating a ruin or rumor of monsters anywhere in the North.
Most of the city's harbor area is located in Dock Ward, as are the businesses and warehouses that depend on the city's newly restored harbor. It's a crowded neighborhood of many winding streets, where folk are comfortable making deals that might in other places provoke the displeasure of the law.
Somewhere along the Dock Ward is a little hole in the wall called "Dorkath's". They serve fine artisanal yeasted flatbread from a far off land topped with a tomato sauce and cheese and baked in an oven. The place seems to be owned by an eccentric orc wizard by the name of Dorkath the Orcath. Dorkath's claims it can deliver to anywhere within the "local planar finite curve" in thirty minutes or less, or your money back. Delivery is supposedly quite expensive and you may need to know a guy.
You arrive during the lunch rush. The place is overcrowded, smells of burnt crusts, and the menu is written entirely in authentic Orcish. There are probably two-hundred people in a space meant for fifty. The line goes out the door and around the block. Many dock workers, some unshirted and dripping with sweat, seem to be in line for a "slice". The goblin running the till has a long hooked nose and he seems to be serving people rather quickly, taking a single gold piece from each and then handing back a piping hot slice of molten cheese-sauce-bread-thing in response. "Skeez" as he seems to be called mutters something about "one a piece" to each person in line, and they seem to comply.
The noise in this place is surprisingly quiet and the crowd seems quite orderly. A strange befezzed orc in a purple robe wanders around the tables greeting everyone with a bizarrely accented string of common, orcish, and something else. He seems to pay particular attention to female customers, especially if they are young and attractive. He seems to be the proprietor of this establishment.
Booths ring the room, all filled to capacity. Tables fill most of the space in between, all equally filled. All of the furniture looks to be in terrible shape in general, seemingly patched together with twine and wax. The places decor screams a hundred years ago, and the dust and mold on everything matches in an authentic grungy way. A plump female halfling in a far too tight blue top seems to greet guests as they enter, "Welcome to Dorkath's, the one-and-only. Dining in or take out?"
Most of the city's harbor area is located in Dock Ward, as are the businesses and warehouses that depend on the city's newly restored harbor. It's a crowded neighborhood of many winding streets, where folk are comfortable making deals that might in other places provoke the displeasure of the law.
Somewhere along the Dock Ward is a little hole in the wall called "Dorkath's". They serve fine artisanal yeasted flatbread from a far off land topped with a tomato sauce and cheese and baked in an oven. The place seems to be owned by an eccentric orc wizard by the name of Dorkath the Orcath. Dorkath's claims it can deliver to anywhere within the "local planar finite curve" in thirty minutes or less, or your money back. Delivery is supposedly quite expensive and you may need to know a guy.
You arrive during the lunch rush. The place is overcrowded, smells of burnt crusts, and the menu is written entirely in authentic Orcish. There are probably two-hundred people in a space meant for fifty. The line goes out the door and around the block. Many dock workers, some unshirted and dripping with sweat, seem to be in line for a "slice". The goblin running the till has a long hooked nose and he seems to be serving people rather quickly, taking a single gold piece from each and then handing back a piping hot slice of molten cheese-sauce-bread-thing in response. "Skeez" as he seems to be called mutters something about "one a piece" to each person in line, and they seem to comply.
The noise in this place is surprisingly quiet and the crowd seems quite orderly. A strange befezzed orc in a purple robe wanders around the tables greeting everyone with a bizarrely accented string of common, orcish, and something else. He seems to pay particular attention to female customers, especially if they are young and attractive. He seems to be the proprietor of this establishment.
Booths ring the room, all filled to capacity. Tables fill most of the space in between, all equally filled. All of the furniture looks to be in terrible shape in general, seemingly patched together with twine and wax. The places decor screams a hundred years ago, and the dust and mold on everything matches in an authentic grungy way. A plump female halfling in a far too tight blue top seems to greet guests as they enter, "Welcome to Dorkath's, the one-and-only. Dining in or take out?"
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