Caelyth had not been long in Waterdeep when his feet began to wander further into different parts of the city. His days were divided between quiet evenings of wine and philosophy with Tam, and long hours finding work wherever coin or curiosity led him. Sometimes he served as translator or sage for nobles and merchants who wanted a learned elf to decipher an inscription or trace the lineage of a relic; those meetings normally took place in the clean and well guarded North and Sea Wards of the city. But other times, working as a spell-for-hire, he walked some narrower paths where the air stank of salt and fish - the Dock Ward.
It was in that grimy maze of alleys that Caelyth began to notice them: bright eyes too sharp for childhood, small hands getting things that didn't belong to them, in the middle of the crowd. Pickpockets and informants - all kids, not past 13 or 14 winters, surviving the only way they could, he thought with sadness. But after a few weeks, he realized that invariably they would meet with certain adults in the same corners, traded coin, then vanished. His questions in taverns brought some answers: the Xanathar Guild had a taste for young thieves. They kidnapped orphans, paying them in coppers to do their dirty work. Their local overseer was a brute named Asgarth, who kept a dorm house where the children slept and had their meals.
It cost Caelyth more than a few gold to ask questions and bribe the right people to learn all this - everybody was afraid of the Xanathar and wouldn't speak for just a few golds. But the more he asked, the more attention he drew. One night, in the corner of a dark tavern, a woman sat on his table, uninvited. Her boots made no sound, her hair dark as wet ink, her eyes alert. “You’re the one asking about the kids,” she said flatly.
Caelyth’s pulse jumped. He glanced toward the door — too far. They’ve found me. He forced calm into his voice - if I die, I'll give them a hard time first, he thought.
“I am. Why do you ask?”
“Because I want in,” she said smirking.
He blinked. “You what?”
“You're a bit slow - but then, elves normally are. You want them stopped. So do I.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I'm not looking for help, even less paying for it.”
“Not asking. Consider it... a hobby,” she replied, and before Caelyth had the opportunity for follow up questions, she said: “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, elf.”
After a long moment, Caelyth nodded. “So be it.”
Over the next two nights, they planned. The City Watch couldn’t be trusted - a few were already on Xanathar’s payroll, so they would act alone. When the third night came, fog rolled in thick over the port. Thina moved first and three guards fell unconscious before they realized what had happened. They entered and Caelyth’s sigils shimmered briefly, locking the doors in silence. They slipped further inside. The air stank of sweat, stale ale, and fear. Already late to prevent their intrusion, half a dozen bandits rushed them, blades and crossbows drawn. Caelyth’s energy shields flared, deflecting the attacks like rain on glass. The first wave past, he pronounced quick words while touching the tip of his finger into a small flask of molasses he had in his components' pouch. When he pointed at the group of ruffians, they felt heir bodies were moving in some kind of gelatinous matter; they were all slowed. Thina, normally already faster than them, danced like a blur of motion that they had no hope of countering. Within minutes, the fight was done. Those who dropped their weapons and surrendered were tied. The watch arrived hours later, Asgarth's men bound and gagged; he was among the dead. The children were escorted by Thina to the Spires of the Morning, a Temple of Lathander where she knew they’d find shelter.
They stood outside as dawn began to stain the harbor gray. Thina leaned against a wall, cleaning her blade on a torn cloak. “They’ll do it again, you know,” she said. “The Xanathar. We saved some kids, took down a few thugs. But it changes nothing.”
Caelyth eyes were fixed, watching the dawn. “It changes everything for the ones we saved. Each one matters. We can’t mend the world, but we can hold some pieces together.”
She gave a laugh - a real one, and the first Caelyth had heard from her. “You’re a philosopher, then.”
“I like to think about things, even have the audacity to try to understand some of them... for instance, I asked around and I found out you have a peculiar reputation. Mind you, a very good one, professionally speaking, but your clients' targets are probably not very happy about that.”
A faint smirk curved her lips. “You’ve been asking a lot of questions since you came here. That’s a good way to end up in a canal.”
“A last one, then... So tell me, Thina... why help me?”
“The world’s not black and white, Caelyth — it’s a mess of gray. But even in the gray, there’s a line. Those bastards crossed my line.”
He smiled faintly. “A rogue with ethical standards. Waterdeep never ceases to surprise.”
She returned the smile, just barely. “And you’re not half bad for a posh elf. If someone crosses your line again, you know where to find me. I might even help.”
With that, she stepped away and soon disappeared into the shadows. Even with the sunrise, they lingered; the streets of the Warrens, with their tall, fragile wooden buildings, were known for being touched by the sun only when it stood at its peak.