In the northeast corner of the Sword Coast, on the western shores of Faerûn sits the Jewel of The North: Waterdeep, the so-called 'City of Spendor'. A bustling metropolis called home by countless thousands of humans, dwarves, elves, and dozens of other creatures. It is a city of opportunity, commerce, leisure, and struggle. Waterdeep's history is old; older than the noble families that rule in the upper wards, older than Baldur's Gate or Icewind Dale, older even than Neverwinter Forest and the great plains that succumbed to the Spell Plague and Calamity; it has persevered. Its history is Contiguous; the city behind its high, white walls has never fallen. This is the hub of many races who make up the spanning castes. This is a city of spectrums; great wealth and oppressive poverty; festivals and fairs and crime and corruption; adventure and intrigue and pampering and imbibing.
It's a city divided. The streets of Castle Ward are pristine, patrolled by guards in colorful armor. Statues that act as street signs, pointing towards the courthouse, a local theater, or the the vast Market. Just beyond the safety of the Castle Ward sits the Sea Ward, home to a dozen religions and their gaudy temples. In the Dock Ward, amidst the smell of salt water, raucous laughter can be heard from behind brightly lit tavern windows. Bar brawls go hand-in-hand with hard liquor, and the liquor flows like water. To the south lay the Trades Ward and it's bustling businesses, and Southern Ward filled with guildhouses, warehouses, and homes for the thousands of laborers, hawkers, tinkers, and artisans of every type that make up the immense city. A great graveyard, called the City of the Dead, sits in the eastern portion. It houses graves and tombs from scores of generations past.
Over it all looms the walking statues--Massive guardians, the size of titans, that loom over the city. They've been still for so long that houses have begun to appear near, around and on them. At one time, their names were known, and their history, told often. But the city is old, and with time, the people have lost the stories.
On the seaward-side of the city, looms Mt. Waterdeep. Its peak will be white capped for only a few more weeks, but now, as the season turns to spring and the winter chill is just starting to melt away, it catches the morning sun and glows like a beacon. It once housed the original denizens that started the city of Waterdeep. Their tunnels and mines still run through its core, but it's been long since abandoned. Or so the city thought; there's been rumblings in the dark, sounds from the old mines, a patrol disappearing here or there. Some say it's simply simple monsters wandering the old halls, or perhaps Underdark creatures striking in the night. Others rumored that a mage took residence there. He experimented on things better left untouched. He went mad. Some say, on those cold, still nights, you can hear his laughter echoing off the mountainside.
But, that is another story for another time... This story has more humble beginnings. We start this story, as so many others begin, in a tavern. A group of unlikely heroes find themselves swept up in events greater than they know...