precision

acl.cool/site/writings/umbral9.dj

@@ -35,7 +35,7 @@ The following morning, the party meets back at the inn, where adventurers take u
 
 With plans in place good as anyone could hope for against so powerful a foe, knowing not to where they adventure nor just what they will find when there, the party returns to Laeral's manor, wherein a briefing she has readied ahead of the expedition. There, the Open Lord shares what knowledge her agents have gathered. The party will head far away to the Vast, a town called Raven's Bluff in the nation of Vesperin[^bluff]. Communication with the nation's representatives has been unreliable, but the party's presence was arranged, and Laeral assures them they will be welcomed with open arms in the face of the undead threat--- when they manage to find the leader, Lord Quarrel, that is. Waterdeep has no maps of the lands to which they go, and even the way of going is an unfamiliar one--- Lord Silverhand secured the use of a private teleportation circle--- through no small trouble, she points out--- and it is from there that the party must leave. Apparently, only _its_ operators, belonging to one of the merchants' guilds, know the precise location of Raven's Bluff in the arcane network.
 
-Continuing to talk strategy as they depart--- each new piece of information about Death Tyrants is a fresh source of worry just as it as another potential advantage--- the heroes locate a shabby but bustling warehouse at the south limit. Over one of several windowless doors is scrawled in uneven, hand-painted letters the business's name, "Bait and Jumbo". A smaller sign below reads more neatly: "Merchant's Guild of Waterdeep", and on the next line "Enter Here". Everything about the place sags; the roof, the strokes of the signage, the pale face of the half elf who greets the party when they knock. She holds a long cigarette, which she rolls idly between her thumb and forefinger as she talks, and puffs on it with every few steps she takes down the multitude of halls, aisles, and interconnected rooms through which she conducts the party to the portal circle. Plenty of workers mill about or labour at their various tasks, but none makes eye contact. Each fixes their gaze carefully up or down, and the only reaction any gives is an involuntary flinch and increased pace of work when the party's conveyor passes near. The half-elf orders a worker to inform "Master Warbeth" of the party's arrival and to let that person know that the party will be departing through the teleportation circle soon. He scurries off in a flash, shouldering past Almuth with eyes glued to the floor. Party members share some looks, but say nothing--- the Open Lord _did_ recommend this place specifically...
+Continuing to talk strategy as they depart--- each new piece of information about Death Tyrants is a fresh source of worry just as it as another potential advantage--- the heroes locate a shabby but bustling warehouse at the south limit. Over one of several windowless doors is scrawled in uneven, hand-painted letters the business's name, "Bait and Jumbo". A smaller sign below reads more neatly: "Fishers' and Fishmongers' Guild of Waterdeep", and on the next line, "Enter Here". Everything about the place sags; the roof, the strokes of the signage, the pale face of the half elf who greets the party when they knock. She holds a long cigarette, which she rolls idly between her thumb and forefinger as she talks, and puffs on it with every few steps she takes down the multitude of halls, aisles, and interconnected rooms through which she conducts the party to the portal circle. Plenty of workers mill about or labour at their various tasks, but none makes eye contact. Each fixes their gaze carefully up or down, and the only reaction any gives is an involuntary flinch and increased pace of work when the party's conveyor passes near. The half-elf orders a worker to inform "Master Warbeth" of the party's arrival and to let that person know that the party will be departing through the teleportation circle soon. He scurries off in a flash, shouldering past Almuth with eyes glued to the floor. Party members share some looks, but say nothing--- the Open Lord _did_ recommend this place specifically...
 
 They find the object of their desire in the basement--- a cellar, really. A broad ellipse, etched in the slate tiles that cover the chamber's floor, circumscribes the room. Low ceilings of exposed and splintering wood make Clementine stoop as she and the rest of the party cram into a boxy, half-finished space. The gaunt half-elf leaves them after introducing a new arrival, Ms. Warbeth, an opulently clothed gnome--- wrapped thickly in furs and wielding an even _longer_ cigarette than her underling--- who arrives coincidentally with the party. She addresses Carmal in hush tones as he takes up the rear of the group.