[ The scenery is－ well, not disconcerting, per se, but Iorveth isn't a fan of all of all of these densely-packed man-made constructs taking up the majority of his field of vision. Gale had called Waterdeep a feat of civilization and culture, but all Iorveth thinks when he sees the city open up to him in shades of night-dark sandstone and brick is "ugly". ]

By the water, [ he echoes, nose wrinkling. The area near the docks is awash with the stench of fish, fresh and rotted; floating above that already-unpleasant musk, the unmistakably acrid sharpness of unwashed sailors. ] He made this city sound like a paradise. Truly deluded.

[ Maybe his opinion will change once they venture a little further north, but walking the seam between the South Ward and the Dock Ward is a lesson in profound disappointment. They pass a few drunk dockworkers who have apparently given up trying to get to their inns, and Iorveth supposes he can give the city credit where it's due that no one has stolen the wallets off of their prone forms (yet).

He squints, looking up towards the slowly-brightening sky in search of something towerlike. ]

We may have to resume our search tomorrow. We haven't much time.