Backstory

This is one of your favorite taverns, a fair-sized and extremely well-kept establishment that is a bit out of place in a rough section of the city of Hornsferry. The chair in which you are seated is a deep, plush, expensive chair that has never been mended. The floor is polished hardwood without a scratch. Delicate baubles and curios adorn the walls and hang behind the bar. For the third time tonight, you were served your favorite drink in a fragile, fluted glass. Considering the rough-and-tumble neighborhood crowd, it seems inevitable that this tavern would quickly devolve into a collection of chipped glasses and broken tables and stools. But, it hasn't. You have made this tavern one of your bases of operations for years and each night that you return it appears unchanged. Your guess? The fight club that goes on in the basement and the associated betting that occurs pours a flood of gold into the pockets of the owners. Those owners seem to reinvest every coin in the bar. The profits probably also help pay for the cadre of hard-eyed bouncers that unobtrusively patrol the floor.

You have been a patron here long enough that you can spot the bouncers, as well as four other patrons that are likely to be preparing for the fights later tonight. All are six-plus-foot tall badasses like yourself, but they look slightly nervous as they roll their shoulders and crack their knuckles in expectation of the evening's matches. The bouncers don't look nervous, they look vigilant and confident.

The sound of footsteps approaching from behind you, perhaps ten feet away, catches your attention. They are the plodding footsteps of a half-drunk customer, not those of a threat, so you only turn your head slightly to track the walker out of the corner of your eye. It's a slight man in a dirty robe, the hood pulled up so that it is difficult to get a clear view of his features. Just as he clears your table, he reaches back and deposits a bulging envelope on your table. Smoothly. You look up and he is gone. The drop was a professional one.

You pour the contents of the envelope of the table. A short note, a crude map, and an oddly faceted diamond. The diamond is quickly slipped into your sleeve as you read the note.

Nameria,

A job for you.

A really old castle was just found in the woods about 15 miles southeast of Highbridge. Dwarvish construction, but supposed to be the site of a tomb of an ancient high elf, known in legends as Imbriel the Stargazer. Tales say that an elf like this is buried with their most prized possession. Not sure what it is. But I have a client that wants it. Willing to pay twenty thousand gold pieces.

Included is a map to the castle. Castle Rend. The diamond is important. My customer says that it's the key to enter the tomb, whatever that means. She says to start beneath the east gate tower. If you take the gem and map, then you take the job. Succeed or don't show your face around here no more. Come back here when you're done. If you don't want the job, leave everything on the table. No hard feelings.

Keep an eye out, word of the tomb in spreading in our circles.

Pleasure doing business.

Gell

It only takes one glance at the map to memorize it. You quickly crumble it and stuff it in your pocket. The castle should be easy to find now that you know where to look. It will only take five days on horseback to get there. Maybe four if the weather holds.

You reach over and delicately chip the edge of your glass. Will it be replaced the next time you return? That's an interesting experiment.

And you're gone.