Lord Dagult Neverember has summoned you to his modest villa in Neverwinter.

Once you arrive, you see several local guards and at least three priests of Oghma. They seem to be overly armed ushers who bring you to the inner sanctum of this highly respected noble of Neverwinter.

Once you arrive in the audience chamber, you find Lord Neverember busily discussing politics with a couple of scholars. He breaks off the discussion to give you a brief smile of recognition, and says the following:

In this scene, you find yourself in a room filled with other adventurers. Many of them seem to be just like you, in that they are not human and they all seem to be seasoned and traveled, bursting with magical potential, and maybe a bit rough around the edges.

Introduce yourself (in character) to the other adventurers and a brief description of what you look like. Feel free to share more than that but don't feel obligated to post your entire backstory here. Once everyone has posted their "introduction" we are going to fast forward to the Hallix Mausoleum in Neverdeath Graveyard which is a dungeon crawl.

A guttural chuckle ripples through the room as Necyra unfurls her impressive, black, leathery wings.  The tips nearly brush the worried brows of a nearby half-orc barbarian [Yurgojin].  "Well, well," she drawls, her voice a smoky rasp, "seems like the good Lord Neverember's got himself a right sticky situation, doesn't he?"

Necyra leans casually against the wall, her crimson eyes glinting with an unsettling amusement.  Dressed in a well-worn suit of half plate armor, dented and scratched from countless adventures, she looks more like a seasoned warrior who's seen her share of scrapes than a noble adventurer.  A cloak drapes over the armor, its enchanted fabric shimmering with a faint, magical light.  Her skin, indeed, is as dark as a moonless night, dusted with constellations of tiny, white freckles that seem to shift and swirl ever so slightly, even when she's still.  A mischievous glint dances in those crimson eyes, hinting at a mind that's as sharp as it is a little...unconventional.

"Necyra's the name," she declares, offering a flippant bow, more of a mockery of courtly etiquette than anything else.  "And liberating folks from...unwanted burdens is my specialty. Sounds like these nobles might be in need of a little...liberation, wouldn't you say?"

Lord Neverember hands Necyra a potion of heroism, "Take this potion and may Oghma's blessing protect you."

As the introductions and discussions continue among the assembled adventurers, a figure in a simple robe steps forward. His appearance is striking, carrying an aura of quiet intensity and predatory grace. He is Trystane, a man whose past is as mysterious as his abilities.

Trystane stands tall and lean, his musculature a testament to years of rigorous training. His eyes, a yellowish amber, gleam with the watchful intensity of a predator, and his dark hair is savagely cut, falling to his shoulders in a wild, untamed mane. The simple robe he wears is adorned with an insignia of the Cult of the Dragon, its jewels flaring with a faint purple light—a hint of their true brilliance revealed only in combat. His relatively long limbs, a subtle nod to his heritage, move with a fluid grace, and his handwraps, worn and stained from countless battles, cover his forearms, indicating his expertise in unarmed combat. There is a somber air about him, a gravity that contrasts with the more flamboyant figures in the room.

He steps forward, offering a respectful nod to the gathered adventurers and then to Lord Neverember. "Greetings, I am Trystane," he begins, his voice calm and measured, though tinged with an undercurrent of determination. "My path has led me through trials both physical and spiritual, and I stand ready to lend my skills to this cause." He looks around the room, his gaze settling on each of his potential allies. "Together, we will uncover the truth behind this foul deed and ensure their safe return." Trystane then turns to Necyra, giving her a slight nod of respect. "May our combined strengths bring justice to those who would prey upon the innocent." 

As he finishes his introduction, Trystane takes a step back, ready to proceed. His demeanor is one of readiness and quiet determination, a man who has seen much and is prepared to see more.

Lord Neverember addresses Trystane, "May Oghma's blessing protect you." and he hands you a potion of heroism

Necyra lets out a throaty laugh, the sound like gravel grinding together.  "Justice, huh? Sounds a tad bit holier-than-thou for my tastes, fancy pants," she rasps, her crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.  She gestures towards Trystane's insignia with a single, clawed finger.  "Though, gotta admit, that sparkly lizard on your robe is kinda growing on me.  Maybe we can make a deal - you keep your preachy talk to a minimum, and I'll, well, let's just say I have a particular talent for finding things most folks miss.  Especially shiny things."

Necyra winks, the gesture accentuated by the way the starlight seems to dance in her freckles for a brief moment.  "Besides," she leans in conspiratorially, "who knows? Maybe these fancy nobles have a few...unwanted trinkets themselves. Wouldn't want those falling into the wrong hands, would we? Especially after we save their hides, of course."

The next figure to step forward is another half-orc. The young woman is surprisingly slender for a member of her race, with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. She is dressed in fine clothing; black silk and laces with gold trim. She appears only to be armed with an ornately carved wooden staff.

This is Bridgette, a Warlock who serves Lord Akkron, the Lich King of the Shaded Isle. Yet in spite of the dark origin of her power, she has a friendly demeanor about her, and seems genuinely concerned about unfortunate situation the city has found itself in.

"My dear Lord Neverember," she says sympathetically. "I am so sorry to hear that such dark days are upon you. I happily will do whatever I can to recover those who have been lost."

She turns to the other adventurers and gives them a smile.

"Oh, since we're apparently going to be a team, my name is Bridgette. Nice to meet you folks!"

"Use this potion and may Oghma's blessing protect you." Lord Neverember says as he hands you a potion of heroism

Trystane's amber eyes narrow slightly, though his expression remains calm and composed. He takes a slow, deliberate breath before responding to Necyra's provocations.

"Justice may sound lofty, but it's what I stand for," he replies evenly, his voice steady and firm. He meets Necyra's gaze, his eyes unyielding. "I understand that we all have our methods and motivations, Necyra. Your skills in finding what others overlook will indeed be valuable. However, I would appreciate it if you respect our mission and those we aim to protect. I value trust and respect above all else." 

He offers a small, almost imperceptible smile, a gesture of tentative camaraderie. "Let us focus on the task at hand. These nobles need our help, and time is of the essence."

Necyra lets out a low whistle, her crimson eyes flickering over Bridgette's attire.  "Well, well," she drawls, "didn't think we'd have a fancy lady joining our little rescue party.  Lost your carriage and need a few strong arms to help you out, is that it?"  A sly grin spreads across Necyra's face.  "Don't worry, sweetheart, these muscles ain't just for show. Though," she adds, leaning in conspiratorially, "between you and me, I wouldn't mind seeing what kind of treasures that fancy staff of yours hides.  You know, just in case the nobles need a little... 'encouragement' to part with some of their 'unwanted burdens.'"  Necyra winks, the constellations on her face seeming to swirl with amusement.

Necyra claps her hands together, the sound oddly cheerful considering the situation.  "Alright, alright, I hear you, Mister Serious," she says with a playful jab at Trystane.  Wiping a tear from her crimson eye (was that... mirth?), she gives him a mock salute, her wings flirtatiously brushing against the nearby half-orc [Yurgojin] again.  "Wouldn't want to traumatize the fine nobles any further, would we?"

A sly grin spreads across her face.  "Besides," she leans in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "a little friendly... persuasion can be a valuable tool, wouldn't you agree? Makes everyone a bit more forthcoming, especially when it comes to... misplaced valuables."  A playful wink punctuates her words, the constellations on her face seeming to twinkle with amusement.  "Happy clients are the best kind, after all."

She flashes a dazzling smile in the half-orc's direction [Yurgojin], her voice dropping to a sultry purr.  "Speaking of valuable tools, by the way, what's a handsome warrior like yourself doing on a rescue mission?  Care to share your name with a curious tiefling?"

(I am just getting into DnD so bear with me if I'm a noob) Pimret Wildfeet the Light Fingered a Lightfoot Halfling stands in the back as to not draw any attention, he has used his spell Disguise Self to look like a Priest of Oghma. Normally he stands at a whopping 3 feet 3 inches which is very tall in his homeland and some things he is proud of. His distinctive Emerald Green eyes always shimmer in the rays of light entering them he is 35lbs with Brown shaggy medium length hair and pail skin.

Back Home he is know as a Folk Hero where he got the name Light Fingers as he stole the Flawless Emerald out of the ring of the local tyrant noble without raising suspicion. Unfortunately the noble found out and beat him in the town square trying to get Pimret to reveal the location of his precious stone. 

Pimret never revealed this to the Noble and barely escaped with his life. At home he is a Folk Hero a home he can't return to as the noble searches for him looking for the day to execute him for his crime. The townfolk still talk of the day when a Lightfoot Halfling stood up to the tyrant of the Half Orc who rules them.

As the other adventurers approach Lord Neverember, a young woman wearing simple entertainer's clothes decides to hang back in the crowd. Her physique is quite thin, and to the normal human she looks beautiful. Her purple skin, horns, red eyes, and wings make her stick out from the crowd a bit, but she manages to blend in the best she can. She's strumming her lute quietly, lost in thought.

Her mastiff sits at her side, panting quietly and rubbing up against her. It's armor glints in the light coming through the windows, and its collar reads 'Rowdy'.

She finally snaps back to reality, and puts away her lute. She rubs Rowdy's head, then walks up to Lord Neverember. "Good day to you, my lord. I will of course help with this mission, and I suspect my companions will be of great help to this quest as well."

The middle aged half-orc stands there with what looks like a frown and serious eyes, but when he speaks the down turn of his mouth seems to stick around. Long tusks extend from his jaw, closer to orc sized more so then the normal half-orc. Wearing what appears to be a set of platemail though a gleam of mithral suggests it's more then mere plate armor. A shield strapped to his back shows 2 double edged battle axes making a "V" shape with weapons long handles, between axes is what appears to be a half orc skull with its big tusks. Despite his rather large and bulky size, the half orc carry a long thin bladed rapier at his side, quite the contrast to rest of him.

"I'd say the other 4 who aren't here are in much stickyer situation." Urgojion says without turning to look the horned adventurer who spoke to him.

As introductions began and the overly talkative Tiefling found another to speak with, he steps forward toward thier host and bows his head. Head dtill down, he says "I am call Urgojion, we will seek these missing members as you wish, but I ask, what sort of authority do we have to conduct this hunt? I am not as familiar with your cities traditions and wish not to overstep ourselves. It appears most of us may be like this." Picking his head back up, he looks around at the others that are to be part of this fellowship, trying to gage what sort dynamics they all would play. Urgojion was a soldier at heart, investigating disapperances wasn't his strong suit, he was more use to being the cause of such.

Lord Neverember hands Mysleen  a potion of heroism, "May Oghma's blessing protect you. Use this potion should you run into any trouble."

Lord Neverember bids farewell with a potion of heroism, "Yurojin, I'm counting on you to bring those nobles back unharmed. May Oghma's blessing protect you."

"Talorin Tebedi, may Oghma's blessing protection you. Take this potion to aid you on this quest." Lord Neverember hands you a potion of heroism.

"Thank you, Lord Neverember." Mysleen bows, then steps back to stand with the rest of the party. She leans over to one of then and whispers, "Who in the name of Asmodeus is Oghma?"

Necyra throws her head back and lets out a hearty, surprised laugh.  "Asmodeus? Sweetheart, you're barking up the wrong demon lord entirely!" she exclaims, amusement dancing in her crimson eyes.  She leans closer to Mysleen, her voice dropping to a whisper.  "Those stuffy priests were prattling on about Oghma, the knowledge god.  Not much use in a brawl, but maybe handy if you need to decipher some dusty old tomb inscription or something."  Necyra winks, her constellations seeming to twinkle with amusement.  "Though between you and me," she adds, her voice even lower, "a little less knowledge and a little more 'oomph' might be what we really need in this situation.  You know, just in case things get a little...unpleasant."

Necyra glances around the assembled group, a predatory glint in her crimson eyes.  "Alright you lot," she booms, her voice echoing in the chamber, "enough chit-chat!  We've got nobles to rescue and a mausoleum to plunder... I mean, explore!  Let's move out before these poor souls get any dustier than they already are!"