The Trade Ward is one of quietest wards in Waterdeep, at night. And yet, there are tales of a stalker in the deepest of the night.
About 60 years ago, a butcher came upon an orphaned boy of about 10 years old. Taking pity on the lad, the butcher brought the boy home with him, to raise the boy along with his younger daughter and to have the boy work as an apprentice. The boy's name was Bill.
Bill took to the art of butchering immediately, for indeed, in that boy's hands, it WAS an art. The butcher was amazed at the boy's skill at the handling of the animals, and the blades. However, he missed the zeal and gleam in Bill's eye as butchered the livestock. At the same time, people began noticing their cats and dogs disappearing.
It wasn't until the butcher came into the backroom of the shop and found the bodies of his wife and daughter had been expertly laid open, and his apprentice, Bill, standing over the corpses with his hands drenched in blood, the steel blade he was holding gleaming in the lamplight, that the butcher discovered what a fiend the boy was.
Noone can tell now where the butcher's shop was. Over the years, the tale has grown to tell how Butcher Boy Bill takes his victims and uses every bit of them, even using their fat to make his candles. Despite being close to 70, people still keep a wary eye on lonely evenings, trying to make it home before the full of night makes it's presence known. Sometimes, on quiet, deserted streets, one can hear the tinkling of steel, echoing off the buildings' walls. They say those are Butcher Boy Bill's blades, hanging from his belt, as he stalks his prey.