Seventy years ago, an explosion rocked the platinum mine of a small village named Vermeillon, collapsing the tunnels and burying workers under tons of rubble. Sixty miners were underground that day. Over thirty of them died in the initial collapse, and the instability of the tunnels made rescue of the others slow and dangerous. The miners who survived the collapse were trapped for days or weeks before they were rescued—or perished in the deep, alone and terrified. Sixteen came out alive. Eleven were never found.
In the wake of the catastrophe, another horror plagued the village as people began to disappear, starting with the survivors—not all at once, however. One or two would vanish in a single night, then a tenday might pass before the next disappearance. These unexplained disappearances terrified the remaining miners. After all the survivors either disappeared or fled, other villagers began to vanish. The villagers tried to protect themselves by sleeping with weapons and taking shifts on watch, but nothing changed. Traveling in groups didn’t help, since a companion might vanish while even briefly out of sight…
You all know this, it is a story you’ve all been told. Whether it was passed to you by a relative or you came across it in your readings or another way is up to you. Vermeillon is now a ghost town with the stories that surround it.
Welcome to Maerin. As the six of you arrive around mid to late afternoon, you see that it is a pretty bustling town located at the foot of a mountain range. The town is the last bastion of civilization before the inhospitable climate of the peaks. Shops, taverns, and other establishments abound in Maerin, as well as an open-air market at the center of town where vendors of all sorts hawk their wares. This market is located where three main roads intersect in the center of the town and as you look around, all races really seem to be present, with no race dominating another. It appears to be a welcome stop for travelers of all types.
As you venture through the market and take in all the scents and sights therein, you look to see the names of the businesses surrounding. As you do, you notice one of the buildings has the sign The Bored Weasel hanging, creaking while it swings in the wind, above the door.
You see a figure that initially blends in, as he enters the Bored Weasel, he puts down his hood and looks around curiously, checking all corners, sizing up the place. He moves with a casual ease, wearing studded leather armor and two short swords at his side, bow over his shoulder. As he walks closer you see that he is a high elf. He isn't your bookish, gentrified high elf, that might be a wizard or sage, heavens no. He has lean, sinewy forearms that he rolls up as he asks for a drink at the bar. As you look at his forearms, there isn't any fancy elditch tattoo or fleur de lis or whatnot. You see a tattooed hand on either forearm with the middle finger extended. He notices you looking and moves to cover them up, readjust his cloak. He gives everyone in the place a hard look to see if they are staring too long, noticing him too much. He looks as if he would rather punch you in the face as talk to you. But as he gets some of the ale in his system and he has checked in his mind all routes of entry and exit, doors, windows, examined who is sitting in the corner and who seems to be watching .... he begins to relax, a smile even crosses his face. He looks over to you as you walk up to the bar, says "Name's Remi. Remi Swiftmantle. Noted you when you came in. What brings you to this dump in this little pisspot of a town?"
Lanky sets out to the Bored Weasel. He looks around to see if anybody else is going into the Bored Weasel before approaching it. He prepares for someone or something to suddenly attacking him as he goes in. Once he goes inside he scans the area before going to the bartender. He waits for the bartender to finish before trying to get their attention. He tries his best to not to be intimidating. While waiting he is startled by a tattooed elf. "Ah! H-hi um you startled me there. Er.... many call me Lanky. Or Lanky Fellow. Or the Tall one. Or Mister Can You Please Help Me Reach Something. Um...Just call me Lanky." Lanky rubs his arm and looks away, a bit nervous, many people would rather run from him, not go to talk to him. "Actually I'm looking for a Lukas Grosvenor, do you know him?" Lanky's eyes narrow and looks at him more closely, standing up strait as Remi catches his attention, almost looming over Remi. "And what are you doing here?"
A tall purple-skinned humanoid suddenly throws the door open and runs inside, looking around wildly, panting slightly. “Where is it?! Where-“ She catches sight of the bartender and begins to walk purposefully towards them, grin and excitement plain to see. Her eyes are light grey and rest under a brow framed by large horns that splay out across her forehead and extend outwards from her temple. Moat would recognize a tiefling immediately. Where her skin is visible, light grey inscriptions - runes maybe - are visible. She verily crackles with the energy akin to a coming storm. Across her back is a blackened spear with light grey tunes that match the style on the visible parts of her body. As she hustles up to the bar, she asks the bartender, “Well, where is it? Where? Did I miss it? Is it still bored? Can. I see it?”
She suddenly realizes you’re looking at her. “Hi, have you seen it yet? The weasel, I mean. Is it still bored? Oh, I hope I didn’t miss it!”
A cloaked figure, cowl over their face steps through the doors of the tavern and pauses. They step to the side, then look around the room as if searching for someone. After brushing a lot of travel dust from their clothes methodically, they lower the hood of their cloak revealing a lean elven face framed in light brown or perhaps dark blonde hair. A she-elf with grey eyes and a faint scar on her forehead. She sighs and nods before moving to the bar.
As she moves it is possible to see that she is carrying an ornate bow and a very large pack. She looks wrong – too frail perhaps? The pack seems much too large for her, but it does not seem to slow her. When she reaches the bar she drops it to the ground with an audible thump.
“Brandy” she says. “Elven brandy.”
There is nothing remarkable about her – and that is perhaps the remarkable thing. Traveling alone through the wilderness – the dust from her clothes attests to a long journey – speaks to someone who is able to survive alone, unarmoured and armed only with a bow.
She looks at the others at the bar searching their faces, apparently happy to be alone with her thoughts.
The she-elf listens to the people at the bar, seemingly absorbed in – and absorbing – her drink. It seems a little like a ritual, perhaps. After a time she turns to the other elf, “Remi, you said your names was? Doesn’t sound like a clan-name I know.” she shrugs and holds out her hand, “Elirion. What brings me? Well, that would be the…”
She is interrupted when the tall purple-skinned humanoid draws her attention. Her intense focus shifts to the stranger, and she frowns, her next words lost.
Remi is looking up at Lanky, smiling at the tall bugbear, says "Actually I'm looking for the same fellow. I got a strange letter that mentioned his name, mentioned a meeting here at this cozy little spot. How do you know him?" Just then, a tiefling walks in looking for an actual bored weasel and he grins, hiding a smile and a chuckle to himself. This should be interesting. And then, she walks in. She has an air about her that gains attention. Like someone who knows what is going on. Interesting. All of us gathering here at once? He looks around the room, at the other local yocals gathered at the other tables ... these recent arrivals, they don't fit in. Like me.
Remi extends his hand, with more grace and manners than one would expect with his bearing. "The name is Remi, Remi Swiftmantle ma'am. A pleasure to meet you Elirion. And no, I'm not like the other elves you know in your clan. I suspect you are a little...(he pauses, looking at her formidable longbow) different... yourself."
Elirion stares at Remi, her head to one side, assessing.
"Time" she says, "Time -- and battles -- change us. All that is really certain is that who we are now is not who we will be tomorrow." As if for the first time she takes in the bugbear and smiles a little wistfully. "You remind me of someone I once knew...an age and a lifetime ago."
She is lost in thought for a few moments before frowning and shaking her head. She focuses on Lanky, "Grosvenor, you said? I too seek him. Popular man, it seems." She scans the room again, before quaffing the remains of her brandy. "I guess he'll show himself eventually."
"To answer your question...Remi...I am here to seeking the answers: Why, who, and..." she smiles, "...what? People go missing because of things that are hidden, and hidden things are like a candle, and I a moth."
Remi takes in Elirion's words, nodding as she speaks. "We have similar thoughts, you and I. I am also drawn to this flame I will admit. Who knows where it will lead." He finishes the rest of his ale and begins to look around the room, for anyone else who seems out of place, or seeking answers. He leans over to the tiefling and says in a conspiratorial fashion "I don't think there is an actual weasel. I think it is just a name they came up with - - and an odd name at that. Who might you be? My name is Remi. Are you out hunting weasels?" His mouth goes into a wry smile, curious as to her answer.
Another man approaches the Bored Weasel. He dusts off his traveling clothes, which look like they may have been resplendent at one point long ago, and takes in the signage with pale gold eyes. "So it's the name of a tavern," he mutters to himself. "Yeah, that makes more sense."
Pulling his hood back, he steps inside the establishment. In the dimmer light of the interior his eyes almost appear iridescent, darker tones subtly intermingling with the gold. He brushes his cloak aside and strides towards the bar, several amulets clinking together upon his chest with each step. Sitting down at the bar, he prepares to ask about a Lukas Grosvenor when he hears the elf beside him mention that very name.
Surprised, he leans back in his stool to examine the small eclectic group that seems to have formed next to him. Poking his head over Elirion's shoulder, he says in a deep baritone, "Hello, sorry to bother, but I heard mention of a Lukas Grosvenor? That would be one of you, I take it? My name is Gabin and I have come far seeking you"
"No...", Elirion turns to the newcomer and pauses mid-sentence, taking in his appearance. She bows her head slightly before continuing, "...no bother. The one that you -- that we -- seek is not yet amongst us." She glances around at those now near the bar then back to Gabin, "Though surely he must be here soon."
She eyes her empty glass speculatively, but tips it upside down and pushes it slowly toward the barkeep, shaking her head sadly.
Gabin pauses for a moment in thought, and then reaches for his stool and pulls it around to sit with the group. "So... I take it I am not the only one looking for him.
Hmm... Anleysa made no mention of any of this,"he mutters to himself while idly fiddling with a pale yellow crystal hanging around his neck. Then a thought occurs to him. "You wouldn't to also be here in regards to Vermeillon, would you?"
Remi - As you walk into the dimly lit inn, you see a fire over in the corner with a couple huddled over enjoying it's warmth. No other patrons are in the tavern other than the man, kid?, behind the bar. He looks up from cleaning glasses when you enter and gives you an smile, and overpowered smile it would seem. He doesn't say anything as you enter and before he gets the chance, a bugbear walks into the bar and the kids eyes go wide.
Lanky - As you approach the Inn, you see notice the crowd of people, and even though they are giving you the wide berth you are used to, you don't notice anything out of the ordinary. When you enter, the only ones that notice you are the bartender and the elf sitting at the bar. You see the bartender looking you open mouthed as you walk up, stalled in his cleaning of glasses, looking like he has forgotten the task all together. He continues to stare as you strike up a conversation with Remi.
Tastie - As you burst through the door, everyone turns to watch as you look for the weasel. You have stopped all commotion and conversation, as I'm sure you typically do and are unaware of this fact. As you get up to the bartender, you break him from his spell of paralysis and he looks at you quizzically, "What weasel? Bored? Well, I'm not bored and I'm definitely not a weasel, ma'am. But do you need a drink?" After a second though, "Actually, have you had too many? Do you need a bed to take a rest?"
Elirion - As you move silently through the bar the patrons are too busy watching the tiefling to notice you until you set your pack down with a thump. The bartender, who is becoming thrilled with this new and exciting day, looks to you and and replies, "Elven brandy? Comin' right up! And please, you appear rather weary, take a seat. Oh! sorry, I didn't mean to offend by that, just trying my best to be hospitable." The human kid flushes a shade of bright red and quickly turns around to get the elf her drink.
Gabin - You enter the tavern shaking your head at the fact you just figured out what this place would be. You see several people gathered around the bar along with a couple by the warmth of the fire. As you head up to the bar you see a flushed bartender trying to manage the group and when you take your place and start questioning the group about Lukas Grosvenor, the kid pipes up, "Lukas? Is that why all of you are here? Well shoot, he's just in the back working on his famous stew. I'll go get him!" Looking relieved to get away, he scurries off to the back.
The tiefling looks at Remi and a frown paints her face. "Oh," she says, crestfallen. Hearing the name "Lukas Grosvenor" she perks up. "Hey! I'm actually looking for a gross weiner guy too! Did you get one of these letters too?" Tastie holds out a letter fished out of a pocket. "I'm here to find out about Vermillen...Vermylon...well, the V-word you just said," she reddens in embarrassment, looking at Gabin.
Tastie responds to the bartender, "Yes, please! One glass of virgin's blood and baby tears please." She laughs nervously. "Joking, joking! A glass of milk please." She raps her fingers on the bar...
Elirion nods in answer to Gabin's question then, as the tiefling mentions the name as well, she blinks a few times before smiling, "It seems everyone is looking for it. I think it's pronounced Ver-MAY-on, dear. At least in the original tongue, who knows what they say here. It's from a southern dialect I think, quite old but it's crept into a lot of place names. Silly spelling, very inefficient."
Lecture complete, her gaze settles on her empty glass, then she turns to the kitchen, waiting for Grosvenor to arrive.
Tastie responds to the bartender, "Yes, please! One glass of virgin's blood and baby tears please." She laughs nervously. "Joking, joking! A glass of milk please." She raps her fingers on the bar...
The kid goes from red to pale as she makes her request and once she reveals that she is joking, he studders, "y-y-yeah, ok ma-a-'am" and gets her a drink before heading back.
The tiefling looks at Remi and a frown paints her face. "Oh," she says, crestfallen. Hearing the name "Lukas Grosvenor" she perks up. "Hey! I'm actually looking for a gross weiner guy too! Did you get one of these letters too?" Tastie holds out a letter fished out of a pocket. "I'm here to find out about Vermillen...Vermylon...well, the V-word you just said," she reddens in embarrassment, looking at Gabin.
Tastie responds to the bartender, "Yes, please! One glass of virgin's blood and baby tears please." She laughs nervously. "Joking, joking! A glass of milk please." She raps her fingers on the bar...
Ale nearly comes out of Remi’s nose as he laughs. “Yes I got a letter as well, (he pulls his letter out) let’s compare. I guess I’m looking for a gross weiner as well.” He can hold it in any longer and he busts out laughing.
Seventy years ago, an explosion rocked the platinum mine of a small village named Vermeillon, collapsing the tunnels and burying workers under tons of rubble. Sixty miners were underground that day. Over thirty of them died in the initial collapse, and the instability of the tunnels made rescue of the others slow and dangerous. The miners who survived the collapse were trapped for days or weeks before they were rescued—or perished in the deep, alone and terrified. Sixteen came out alive. Eleven were never found.
In the wake of the catastrophe, another horror plagued the village as people began to disappear, starting with the survivors—not all at once, however. One or two would vanish in a single night, then a tenday might pass before the next disappearance. These unexplained disappearances terrified the remaining miners. After all the survivors either disappeared or fled, other villagers began to vanish. The villagers tried to protect themselves by sleeping with weapons and taking shifts on watch, but nothing changed. Traveling in groups didn’t help, since a companion might vanish while even briefly out of sight…
You all know this, it is a story you’ve all been told. Whether it was passed to you by a relative or you came across it in your readings or another way is up to you. Vermeillon is now a ghost town with the stories that surround it.
Welcome to Maerin. As the six of you arrive around mid to late afternoon, you see that it is a pretty bustling town located at the foot of a mountain range. The town is the last bastion of civilization before the inhospitable climate of the peaks. Shops, taverns, and other establishments abound in Maerin, as well as an open-air market at the center of town where vendors of all sorts hawk their wares. This market is located where three main roads intersect in the center of the town and as you look around, all races really seem to be present, with no race dominating another. It appears to be a welcome stop for travelers of all types.
As you venture through the market and take in all the scents and sights therein, you look to see the names of the businesses surrounding. As you do, you notice one of the buildings has the sign The Bored Weasel hanging, creaking while it swings in the wind, above the door.
And you enter...
You see a figure that initially blends in, as he enters the Bored Weasel, he puts down his hood and looks around curiously, checking all corners, sizing up the place. He moves with a casual ease, wearing studded leather armor and two short swords at his side, bow over his shoulder. As he walks closer you see that he is a high elf. He isn't your bookish, gentrified high elf, that might be a wizard or sage, heavens no. He has lean, sinewy forearms that he rolls up as he asks for a drink at the bar. As you look at his forearms, there isn't any fancy elditch tattoo or fleur de lis or whatnot. You see a tattooed hand on either forearm with the middle finger extended. He notices you looking and moves to cover them up, readjust his cloak. He gives everyone in the place a hard look to see if they are staring too long, noticing him too much. He looks as if he would rather punch you in the face as talk to you. But as he gets some of the ale in his system and he has checked in his mind all routes of entry and exit, doors, windows, examined who is sitting in the corner and who seems to be watching .... he begins to relax, a smile even crosses his face. He looks over to you as you walk up to the bar, says "Name's Remi. Remi Swiftmantle. Noted you when you came in. What brings you to this dump in this little pisspot of a town?"
Lanky sets out to the Bored Weasel. He looks around to see if anybody else is going into the Bored Weasel before approaching it. He prepares for someone or something to suddenly attacking him as he goes in. Once he goes inside he scans the area before going to the bartender. He waits for the bartender to finish before trying to get their attention. He tries his best to not to be intimidating. While waiting he is startled by a tattooed elf. "Ah! H-hi um you startled me there. Er.... many call me Lanky. Or Lanky Fellow. Or the Tall one. Or Mister Can You Please Help Me Reach Something. Um...Just call me Lanky." Lanky rubs his arm and looks away, a bit nervous, many people would rather run from him, not go to talk to him. "Actually I'm looking for a Lukas Grosvenor, do you know him?" Lanky's eyes narrow and looks at him more closely, standing up strait as Remi catches his attention, almost looming over Remi. "And what are you doing here?"
Tastie
A tall purple-skinned humanoid suddenly throws the door open and runs inside, looking around wildly, panting slightly. “Where is it?! Where-“ She catches sight of the bartender and begins to walk purposefully towards them, grin and excitement plain to see. Her eyes are light grey and rest under a brow framed by large horns that splay out across her forehead and extend outwards from her temple. Moat would recognize a tiefling immediately. Where her skin is visible, light grey inscriptions - runes maybe - are visible. She verily crackles with the energy akin to a coming storm. Across her back is a blackened spear with light grey tunes that match the style on the visible parts of her body. As she hustles up to the bar, she asks the bartender, “Well, where is it? Where? Did I miss it? Is it still bored? Can. I see it?”
She suddenly realizes you’re looking at her. “Hi, have you seen it yet? The weasel, I mean. Is it still bored? Oh, I hope I didn’t miss it!”
DM - And In The Darkness, Rot: The Sunless Citadel
DM - Our Little Lives Kept In Equipoise: Curse of Strahd
DM - Misprize Thou Not These Shadows That Belong: The Lost Mines of Phandelver
PC - Azzure - Tyranny of Dragons
A cloaked figure, cowl over their face steps through the doors of the tavern and pauses. They step to the side, then look around the room as if searching for someone. After brushing a lot of travel dust from their clothes methodically, they lower the hood of their cloak revealing a lean elven face framed in light brown or perhaps dark blonde hair. A she-elf with grey eyes and a faint scar on her forehead. She sighs and nods before moving to the bar.
As she moves it is possible to see that she is carrying an ornate bow and a very large pack. She looks wrong – too frail perhaps? The pack seems much too large for her, but it does not seem to slow her. When she reaches the bar she drops it to the ground with an audible thump.
“Brandy” she says. “Elven brandy.”
There is nothing remarkable about her – and that is perhaps the remarkable thing. Traveling alone through the wilderness – the dust from her clothes attests to a long journey – speaks to someone who is able to survive alone, unarmoured and armed only with a bow.
She looks at the others at the bar searching their faces, apparently happy to be alone with her thoughts.
The she-elf listens to the people at the bar, seemingly absorbed in – and absorbing – her drink. It seems a little like a ritual, perhaps. After a time she turns to the other elf, “Remi, you said your names was? Doesn’t sound like a clan-name I know.” she shrugs and holds out her hand, “Elirion. What brings me? Well, that would be the…”
She is interrupted when the tall purple-skinned humanoid draws her attention. Her intense focus shifts to the stranger, and she frowns, her next words lost.
“What???”
Remi is looking up at Lanky, smiling at the tall bugbear, says "Actually I'm looking for the same fellow. I got a strange letter that mentioned his name, mentioned a meeting here at this cozy little spot. How do you know him?" Just then, a tiefling walks in looking for an actual bored weasel and he grins, hiding a smile and a chuckle to himself. This should be interesting. And then, she walks in. She has an air about her that gains attention. Like someone who knows what is going on. Interesting. All of us gathering here at once? He looks around the room, at the other local yocals gathered at the other tables ... these recent arrivals, they don't fit in. Like me.
Remi extends his hand, with more grace and manners than one would expect with his bearing. "The name is Remi, Remi Swiftmantle ma'am. A pleasure to meet you Elirion. And no, I'm not like the other elves you know in your clan. I suspect you are a little... (he pauses, looking at her formidable longbow) different... yourself."
Elirion stares at Remi, her head to one side, assessing.
"Time" she says, "Time -- and battles -- change us. All that is really certain is that who we are now is not who we will be tomorrow." As if for the first time she takes in the bugbear and smiles a little wistfully. "You remind me of someone I once knew...an age and a lifetime ago."
She is lost in thought for a few moments before frowning and shaking her head. She focuses on Lanky, "Grosvenor, you said? I too seek him. Popular man, it seems." She scans the room again, before quaffing the remains of her brandy. "I guess he'll show himself eventually."
"To answer your question...Remi...I am here to seeking the answers: Why, who, and..." she smiles, "...what? People go missing because of things that are hidden, and hidden things are like a candle, and I a moth."
Remi takes in Elirion's words, nodding as she speaks. "We have similar thoughts, you and I. I am also drawn to this flame I will admit. Who knows where it will lead." He finishes the rest of his ale and begins to look around the room, for anyone else who seems out of place, or seeking answers. He leans over to the tiefling and says in a conspiratorial fashion "I don't think there is an actual weasel. I think it is just a name they came up with - - and an odd name at that. Who might you be? My name is Remi. Are you out hunting weasels?" His mouth goes into a wry smile, curious as to her answer.
Another man approaches the Bored Weasel. He dusts off his traveling clothes, which look like they may have been resplendent at one point long ago, and takes in the signage with pale gold eyes. "So it's the name of a tavern," he mutters to himself. "Yeah, that makes more sense."
Pulling his hood back, he steps inside the establishment. In the dimmer light of the interior his eyes almost appear iridescent, darker tones subtly intermingling with the gold. He brushes his cloak aside and strides towards the bar, several amulets clinking together upon his chest with each step. Sitting down at the bar, he prepares to ask about a Lukas Grosvenor when he hears the elf beside him mention that very name.
Surprised, he leans back in his stool to examine the small eclectic group that seems to have formed next to him. Poking his head over Elirion's shoulder, he says in a deep baritone, "Hello, sorry to bother, but I heard mention of a Lukas Grosvenor? That would be one of you, I take it? My name is Gabin and I have come far seeking you"
"No...", Elirion turns to the newcomer and pauses mid-sentence, taking in his appearance. She bows her head slightly before continuing, "...no bother. The one that you -- that we -- seek is not yet amongst us." She glances around at those now near the bar then back to Gabin, "Though surely he must be here soon."
She eyes her empty glass speculatively, but tips it upside down and pushes it slowly toward the barkeep, shaking her head sadly.
Gabin pauses for a moment in thought, and then reaches for his stool and pulls it around to sit with the group. "So... I take it I am not the only one looking for him.
Hmm... Anleysa made no mention of any of this," he mutters to himself while idly fiddling with a pale yellow crystal hanging around his neck. Then a thought occurs to him. "You wouldn't to also be here in regards to Vermeillon, would you?"
Remi - As you walk into the dimly lit inn, you see a fire over in the corner with a couple huddled over enjoying it's warmth. No other patrons are in the tavern other than the man, kid?, behind the bar. He looks up from cleaning glasses when you enter and gives you an smile, and overpowered smile it would seem. He doesn't say anything as you enter and before he gets the chance, a bugbear walks into the bar and the kids eyes go wide.
Lanky - As you approach the Inn, you see notice the crowd of people, and even though they are giving you the wide berth you are used to, you don't notice anything out of the ordinary. When you enter, the only ones that notice you are the bartender and the elf sitting at the bar. You see the bartender looking you open mouthed as you walk up, stalled in his cleaning of glasses, looking like he has forgotten the task all together. He continues to stare as you strike up a conversation with Remi.
Tastie - As you burst through the door, everyone turns to watch as you look for the weasel. You have stopped all commotion and conversation, as I'm sure you typically do and are unaware of this fact. As you get up to the bartender, you break him from his spell of paralysis and he looks at you quizzically, "What weasel? Bored? Well, I'm not bored and I'm definitely not a weasel, ma'am. But do you need a drink?" After a second though, "Actually, have you had too many? Do you need a bed to take a rest?"
Elirion - As you move silently through the bar the patrons are too busy watching the tiefling to notice you until you set your pack down with a thump. The bartender, who is becoming thrilled with this new and exciting day, looks to you and and replies, "Elven brandy? Comin' right up! And please, you appear rather weary, take a seat. Oh! sorry, I didn't mean to offend by that, just trying my best to be hospitable." The human kid flushes a shade of bright red and quickly turns around to get the elf her drink.
Gabin - You enter the tavern shaking your head at the fact you just figured out what this place would be. You see several people gathered around the bar along with a couple by the warmth of the fire. As you head up to the bar you see a flushed bartender trying to manage the group and when you take your place and start questioning the group about Lukas Grosvenor, the kid pipes up, "Lukas? Is that why all of you are here? Well shoot, he's just in the back working on his famous stew. I'll go get him!" Looking relieved to get away, he scurries off to the back.
Tastie
The tiefling looks at Remi and a frown paints her face. "Oh," she says, crestfallen. Hearing the name "Lukas Grosvenor" she perks up. "Hey! I'm actually looking for a gross weiner guy too! Did you get one of these letters too?" Tastie holds out a letter fished out of a pocket. "I'm here to find out about Vermillen...Vermylon...well, the V-word you just said," she reddens in embarrassment, looking at Gabin.
Tastie responds to the bartender, "Yes, please! One glass of virgin's blood and baby tears please." She laughs nervously. "Joking, joking! A glass of milk please." She raps her fingers on the bar...
DM - And In The Darkness, Rot: The Sunless Citadel
DM - Our Little Lives Kept In Equipoise: Curse of Strahd
DM - Misprize Thou Not These Shadows That Belong: The Lost Mines of Phandelver
PC - Azzure - Tyranny of Dragons
Elirion nods in answer to Gabin's question then, as the tiefling mentions the name as well, she blinks a few times before smiling, "It seems everyone is looking for it. I think it's pronounced Ver-MAY-on, dear. At least in the original tongue, who knows what they say here. It's from a southern dialect I think, quite old but it's crept into a lot of place names. Silly spelling, very inefficient."
Lecture complete, her gaze settles on her empty glass, then she turns to the kitchen, waiting for Grosvenor to arrive.
The kid goes from red to pale as she makes her request and once she reveals that she is joking, he studders, "y-y-yeah, ok ma-a-'am" and gets her a drink before heading back.
"You're close enough," Gabin says to Tastie. "What's that you've got there? May I?" Gabin asks, gesturing at the note she had procured.
He looks around to the others, eyes lingering a little longer on Lanky. "Did you all receive letters like this one?"
Ale nearly comes out of Remi’s nose as he laughs. “Yes I got a letter as well, (he pulls his letter out) let’s compare. I guess I’m looking for a gross weiner as well.” He can hold it in any longer and he busts out laughing.
Elirion sighs and looks longingly at her glass, then walks over to the fire to warm her hands. It's going to be a long night.
Remi opens his letter and compares it to the one Tastie had fished out and realizes they are identical. Word for word and same handwriting.