The addled noble youth Artan Rosallio got doused with water by Londer as the party descended beneath the Yartar market to the strange underground inn, Beldabar’s Rest. 

The main room of the inn, with hallways forking off like the spokes of a wheel, was heaving with activity. Merchants, travellers and revellers filled the place, bards were performing songs and spinning tales, and there were cheers and cries with the rattle of dice from the games of chance being played down one side of the room. The air was thick with the smell of booze, smoke and the cooked meats from the kitchen. A welcome respite for the party after the long journey across the Dessarin Valley from Triboar.

The room was dotted with staff that doubled as security, all clearly comprised of seasoned adventurer types. Their hands twitching near the hilt of their blades. Most of the patrons still carried their arms by their sides. The atmosphere was intoxicating but there was also the charge of danger in the air.

Even the sight of Gunther’s gold trousers and Thoradin casting healing touch on the wide-eyed gurning youth didn’t visibly draw the crowd’s eye – the walls of Beldabar’s Rest had seen a bit. The curative powers of Thoradin’s magic appeared to abate the boy’s attacks of pain for now.   

Beldabar, the gruff dwarven proprietor of the establishment, introduced himself. He was old, with a long grey ponytail down to his waist. The Rest’s conditions and rules along with the menu were explained. 

RULES

• No practicing slavery, 
• No lighting fires
• No molestation of any guests
• No drawing steel in anger
• When you pay, you pay on the spot.
• If there is any trouble, ring the gong in your room, help will come. 
• “Other than that, you may do as you please”

MENU

• Strong dark ale 
• A sweet green wine, [that while enjoyed by few, was famous, or perhaps infamous.]
• Skewers of chicken hearts 
• Lentil and rice soup

Wasting no time in their search for answers, the party quickly began to ask questions of the noble youth. 

“I don’t remember what happened”, the podgy noble insisted. “I was leaving from Rossalio Manor, my home, heading out for somewhere… I can’t remember where…”

This boy needed a moment, and so food and drink were called for, and before long, the youth remembered a little more after slurping down some hot lentil soup. He had no recollection of the cocoon, but some things did come to him…

“I just remember getting ready to leave, and a golden goose… I don’t remember why, or what it means…” 

“Maybe I’m the golden goose?” He murmured to himself. 

As he slurped down his soup, a strange look came across his face.

“ I remember a beautiful woman with black hair… she was wearing a purple dress…. I don’t know where I saw her… that’s all I remember” 

 — 

After the youth took to bed to recuperate, the crew enjoyed some green wine, some hearts on skewers, and got stuck into the games of chance.

Beldabar was brusk and short (ahem) with Thoradin’s attempt at invoking dwarven camaraderie and subsequent information gathering, explaining that this is not the sort of inn you ask too many questions in.  

“Look, I’ve run this place for more than 100 years, but before that, I used to be an adventurer, I get it, but please, keep your heads down, put your swords away and take a load off. People come here to avoid being asked questions.”

“If you need information you’re in a big town, the streets are filled with people who might like to answer your questions. Just don’t do it in my inn” 

It seemed that old Beldabar needed to update his list of rules.

At the gambling table, Miss Moss and Thoradin observed and then played a game of Sava – a drow variation on chess. Before Thoradin was roundly beaten by Miss Moss for the sum of 1gp, they overheard a half-orc telling tall tales of the hidden halls that run from the corridors around the inn. 

“This place is full of secret doors” he says enticingly. “I’ve heard there are secret entrances that lead from the Rest to Shadowskulk Alley, a cavern dock on the banks of the river, and to the Kissing Court.”  

“But the thing is,” he paused for effect, “there are also rumours that these corridors are connected to passages that run deeper still – to ancient halls that extend far below the city… but who knows if any of that’s true”

Leshanna and Lia sat at the edge of the room and smoked a pipe as they observed the revellers, somewhat surprised that there was no bloodshed in the room of drunk and heavily armed patrons. 

The Next Day

In the morning sun, it’s a short journey to Rossalio Manor through the buzzing streets of Yartar. The market, a maze of stalls, many of them selling fresh catches from the Three Rivers. Other stalls offered fresh fruit, trinkets, even crystal bottles of perfume from far off lands, there were some stalls selling magical components tucked away in the shade.   

The Subrin river meets the Dessarin just south of the city, and in the distance, the river was filled with the famous barges constructed by the builders of Yartar. 

The huge Shield Tower that the party passed through when they entered the city loomed over the skyline on the western bank of the Subrin. 

There was the bustling and hungry energy of people trying to make their fortunes through whatever means possible. It was difficult to believe this was the same place that last night was so dark and quiet, lit only by the lanterns held by the lamp lasses as they bobbed and danced through the darkened streets. 

Today the only hint of something more sinister, something beyond the glamour of the wealthy merchants and nobles in their colourful clothes and sparkling jewellery, was the very narrow alleyways tucked away in the shadows between the tall buildings, just out of sight; but they were unmistakably there, and no sunlight could ever penetrate them.

Rossalio Manor 

Centuries-old, grand, but with a crumbling and faded majesty; the knocker on the huge door was struck three times and the party was greeted by a dark and handsome man, dressed formally, who introduced himself as Khemed. Struck by the sight of the enfeebled young Artan, he insisted on bringing him and the party inside to meet the lady of the house. 

“Please, come with me, she will need to see you” 

The mansion reeked of wealth and power. Huge paintings depicting daily life in Yartar through the centuries lined the hallway along with busts of the generations of the Rossalio family. 

Led into a large, impressive, but ultimately tasteless office, Lady Rossalio emerged from behind an apparently purely decorative desk to greet the party. A large, ugly chandelier above, and a huge tapestry featuring a mercantile scene set on the rivers of Yartar hung on one wall. Three tough-looking but absolutely still guards stood against the walls. Streams of the light through the window failed to pierce the gloom of the dark burgundy room. 

The lady was anything but soft in disposition, she refused to speak to her son and promptly dismissed him, disgusted by his appearance. She explained with disdain that the boy was a little dim and that the males in the Rossalio family were often late bloomers. 

Although she declared the sort of work the party was involved in unseemly: 

“I will give you 100 gp for saving the boy, 500gp if you can find out what happened to him, and a further 500gp if you can recover the pendent that he’s managed to lose. It is a precious family heirloom.”

She explained that it is an R engraved in emerald set upon an onyx disk 

After some canny negotiating from the team, Lady Dezhia Rossalio agreed to pay half now as a downpayment. 

Khemed went to a small chest on a bench and fetched the amount of gold for the party. 

The lady was unable to offer any meaningful information in the way of clues: she saw him last a few days ago, didn’t know where he was going the night he disappeared, and certainly has heard nothing of these cocoons.  She seemed disturbed by the information presented, but mostly interested in protecting the family rather than the boy. She did at least manage to convey that she will get the family priest to attend to him.

What she did say of interest, was that Nestra the Waterbaron was very interested in Artan’s disappearance. Dezhia got the distinct impression that she was aware of other nobles disappearing and now in light of this information, she suggests you begin by speaking with her.

Before leaving, Lia seizing the moment, thinks to ask whether Lady Rossalio might be able to direct her to a scholar who knows about drow houses. 

She is directed to Esklindrar’s Maps, Books, & Folios, run by one of the wisest men in the realm.

At this point, the party split up, the chaps off to chase down some fine booze, and the women off to find answers on the Drow houses.  

Esklindrar’s Maps, Books, & Folios

From the outside, the shop could have been abandoned – garden overgrown, door ajar, windows covered in dust. Piles of teetering books everywhere and huge dusty tomes lining the shelves.

When he heard the bell jingle over the door, a very frail human man appeared, at least 100 years old. 

“How can I help you?” 

After initially insisting on a large sum of gold for his services. Esklindrar was quickly overawed by the sigil on the letter that Lia presented him.

“Where did you get this?!” 

He promptly retrieved a huge tome entitledOn the Matter of the Houses of the Drow. – by Lexzar Demara.

Flipping pages and with clouds of dust filling the air, he found a very similar symbol on the heading of a chapter in the book entitled:

HOUSE XOLARRIN 

“Where did you get this??” He asked again “More importantly … WHEN did you get it??”

“You see? It is not the same. This… this symbol here” he pointed to Lia’s letter and then back to the book, “your letter has the Q… this means… it is the Q’Xolarrin… Extraordinary. I have never seen this. I don’t believe anyone has… At least on the surface… 

Esklindrar explained that the House of Xolarrin was a stately and ancient drow house in their capital in the Underdark. The story goes that they moved to the surface. That they took up residence in the lost dwarven city of Gauntlrgym. None of this was confirmed though. 

“When they moved they added a Q to the name… the Q on the Xolarrin symbol means that the story is true! It means they were on the surface!”

The excited old man went on to explain that “Gauntlrgym is a very ancient dwarven city, long thought lost, but it’s only in recent years it was rediscovered by the great dwarven hero-king, Bruenor Battlehammer. It is my understanding that he is still there now, sitting upon its throne as he works to restore it to its former glory. Gauntlgrym is apparently a wonderous sight, with chambers so large that you could fit an entire surface village inside just one of them.”

With further questioning from Lia, Esklindrar explained that the drow have long been involved in slave trading. Using the vast networks of the Underdark as a means of transport. There are even troubling rumours that the city of Yartar is being used for this trade, even today. He goes on to explain that there are stories of a lost dwarven citadel deep below the streets, and that from there, there are passageways that lead to the Underdark itself.  Although he has never heard of anyone finding the citadel. 

Esklindrar suggested they go to Gauntlgrym for answers or try and find Lexzar Demara in Neverwinter, he believes he is still alive. 

When asked about the missing nobles and the cocoon he seemed lost, he asked them to come back the following day and in the meantime he would do some research.

Seizing the opportunity to mine this sage for exposition, Leshanna asked if he had any knowledge on the giants and Ordening. 

Grabbing a similarly titled book on giants off the shelf, Esklindrar explains information that is pretty close to what Zephyros told them. The Ordening is a system put in place by the Allfather that holds giant-kind in check –  stops warring between the different types. If it is broken, in his understanding, that represents a huge threat for all of us. Without the Ordening, there would be turmoil… 

When told about the fire giants and the large pieces of adamantine they were trying to pull from the ground he looked concerned. Diving into the book, he found a section on the fire giants… He was reminded of an old story about how thousands of years ago, when the giants and dragons were at war, the fire giants built a huge colossus to aid them in the fight – it was called the Vonindod… The Vonindod was made of adamantine.  

If the Ordening is broken then it must be restored. 

The old sage offered one last bit of advice, he said that in Neverwinter there was a team of heroes called Force Grey, they worked with authorities as protectors of the city. 

“This was a long time ago now, but one of them was known as Harshnag, I don’t know where he is these days, but if you could find him he may be able to help you… for Harshnag is a Frost Giant.”

Halassa’s Waterwell & Fine Wines

Gunther and Thoradin engage in some pretty rigorous taste testing of the fine boozes at one of Yartar’s premiere bottlos. 

After a couple of hours, and eventually wearing out their welcome, they emerged with rosy cheeks, Gunther with a crate of extremely fine elvish wines. 

A Curb in Yartar

The party reconvened at the agreed place later in the afternoon. Londer had purchased a crossbow. 

As they sat around on the curb and drank, with townsfolk looking askance at them as they passed, the party chose this moment to press Gunther on the recent incongruences of his persona. “How has a swashbuckling rogue learnt to cast spells?” “Why did that stupid criminal, Vaxx, seem to know him so well?”, “What time did you do, and for what?”, “Why is a man-cat called Dog?”, “Who is he, really??”

This street-side pressure sees the tabaxi come clean: he is a crim on the run, a man of many faces, a master of disguise, accustomed to trusting no one, relying on his wits, he didn’t want to reveal his true self without being sure he could trust you. His is known by many names, Bizarre Gunther is just one… Sometimes ‘Dog’, sometimes ‘Abnormal Angus’… (to Miss Moss, he is now Acute Angles). 

He is a Bard whose powers come from channelling the fabric of the universe through music and dance. 

Miss Moss muses to herself… “Multiple Angles”.

To celebrate this recent expression of trust, party unity, and street-side booze, the party decided to call off engagements for the rest of the day and commence an afternoon/evening inn-crawl.