The Fiery Flagon

I found the wide, iron-barred door of this dark, ramshackle place late at night. I thought it was just on the edge of the ward, not in its depths, but I walked past tall house after tall house.

When I came at last to the Flagon, I couldn’'t believe how small it was. Inside, it descended in a series of steps, opening into a cellar level larger than is aboveground. Yet there is scarce room for all the fish, flotsam, and ships’ gear that crowds the place.

As I went in, water shone back at me from tanks of sullen, gliding blackjaws, moon-faced clearfins, and the dangerous kgrench. All around were nets, blown-glass floats, anchors, and wave-worn figureheads. The awesome skeleton of an eye of the deep hung overhead. Lamps set in its eye sockets cast an eerie, flickering glow over all.

The interior of the Flagon is not at all the slick, expensive watering hole one expects in Sea Ward—-for that, go to Gounar’'s or the Ship’'s Wheel. Yet unlike the rough bars of Dock Ward, the place felt safe, like a refuge from the storms of the sea. It even creaks and groans just like a ship when winds blow high. It was full of sailors eager to spin yarns of the sea’s mysteries over plentiful drink and the freshest fish to be had in the city.

Food in the Flagon means cheese, grapes, bread, and lots and lots of seafood-—seafood hauled live and dripping from tanks all around the place, and cooked, swiftly and expertly, in front of your eyes. Sailors can bring their own catch to be cooked, too, but the wise guests leave their palates in the care of the four cooks, grizzled old seamen who know just what will make a particular fish or deep-sea creature taste the best. Try the fried sea snake!

The proprietor is a fat, weathered old man named Ulscaleer Anbersyr. A retired sea captain, he seems to know everyone and is said to have fabulously rich pirate treasures hidden away somewhere in the city. Some told me he quietly supplies pirates with food and gear as well as fencing goods for them.

The ruffians and lowlives are kept out by the prices. The splendid but simple meals are 70 cp/plate, and drink goes by the tankard: 3 coppers for rough ale, 5 coppers for good ale, 10 cp for zzar, and then steeply upwards for wine and spirits, up to 14 sp for the best firebelly whiskey. Ulscaleer is proud of the fact that you can'’t drink even the finest wine out of anything but a tankard in his place. He has little use for dandified nobles and snobs of any sort.

The Flagon's damp cellars are said to have a hidden tunnel, that winds down a long away by stair and ladder shaft to caverns near to a strange, lawless place in the depths called Skullport. Ulscaleer, I was told, charges 5 sp to open the stoutly barred, magically protected door that seals the cellar off from the top of the tunnel. All openings are performed by a half-dozen armed men. Ulscaleer keeps some sort of magical wand at the ready during such openings. Much illicit trade passes this way, with the Lords of Waterdeep being none the wiser.

I also heard something about a Sea Ghost—-a dripping wraith of a drowned pirate, festooned with seaweed, that pursues those who meddle in the affairs of pirates. Regular patrons told me, however, such talk was just nonsense put about to scare off the overly inquisitive.