I have added the items to your character's inventory. But here they all are in card form for you to easily read and decide what to do with!

Note: The armor is based on leather, so its 11 + dex mod.

P.T. will keep the items on, and look to Edwyn. "Right, then. Now that this little episode is... done with—for now, at least—I believe you owe me something. Tresendars."

(Does the leather not have a card? Or is it just not yet properly identified?)

(Oops it got deleted when I tried to format a tad... DDB is still as hairy as ever I see)

Edwyn, who was absentmindedly looking through the book, looks up at P.T. almost surprised. Like he had forgotten that was the whole point of why P.T. had any part of this escapade. He grins as he looks at P.T. "Green is a good color on you." He gestures at P.T. with open book in hand. "Now then, yes, you're right. I'm true to my word, as you know. I have information on the Tresendars, and I'm curious to see what you make of what I tell you." He motions for you to have a seat, but regardless he begins to tell you about them:

There are a couple things I must make clear to you before I dive in. Please, pay attention. First, I assume even you have heard of the Alagondars, yes? The former royal family of Neverwinter. King Bann Alagondar was the last true king of Neverwinter, if I recall. Second, some 30 years ago people who claimed to be descendants of the Alagondars attempted to seize power from Lord Neverember, our lord and ruler. The one who will restore Neverwinter to its previous glory.

Now you may be wondering, what does any of that have to do with the Tresendars? Friend, it has quite a lot to do with it. Lord Neverember quelled the Alagondar situation with spilled blood. The public doesn't know this, but I am quite sure the members of the Sons of Alagondar who had the most legitimate claims to the throne have been... disappeared. However, aside from the Alagondars, there is another royal family. That's right, the Tresendars.

The Tresendars are a branch family from the Alagondars, several centuries ago, when one of the princesses married the noble Tresendar family of Neverwinter. She was by all counts a warrior, and she served her brother well in the orcish wars of the time. After the war was over, the King, her brother, gifted her land in a lush valley nestled between the woods and the mountains not too far from here. It was a gift for her valor. And so that is where the Tresendars lived for a couple centuries... and complacent became the bloodline, you see. That's humans for you.

Orc raiders took their revenge on the Tresendars, or so I've been told. They are completely wiped off the face of Faerun. If a Tresendar wanted to, they could almost assuredly start a rebellion. Or perhaps they could put themselves in a position to be bought by the Lord Protector Neverember. He is quite liked by the common people now, but it never hurts to have the backing of an allied royal.

So you can see why I am quite curious about why you ask...

Edwyn's eyes twinkle with curiosity. 

"...Royal blood, hm?" P.T. purses his lips, scratches his beardless chin. "That's... interesting." P.T. looks up at Edwyn, sees his twinkling eyes. "Why I ask? Well... how do I put this? I recently found something that belonged to the family. I wanted to know about them, since if I want to capitalize on it fully... I may have to end up heading to their lands. Or, former lands, I guess." P.T. uncomfortably shifts, moving the dagger cloak so that it fully covers the emblem sewed onto the threadbare coat they've worn all their life.

(No formatting here, on mobile!)

Edwyn laughed suddenly at P.T.'s movements and shook his head like one might do to a child. "Oh come now, P.T. Surely you don't think after all this time I never noticed? I found it curious. I knew of the Tresendars and their crest generally speaking, as it is piece and parcel the education of all nobility, but I don't know their entire history. I did some research on them as soon as I laid eyes upon you and that crest. I was always wondering if you had stolen that coat or... If you were a missing heir. Now with what you said, I know the truth."

With that, Edwyn stood, nodded toward P.T., and kneeled. "My liege, Edwyn Greywind, at your service. Hopefully, you will look upon our antics with kindness."

P.T. assumes a regal stance, or at least his approximation of what a regal stance might be. A wry smile plays across his face. "Rise, Ser Greywind, thou needs't not grovel at my feet, though I must confess it pleases me to see thee in such a position." They extend a hand and pull Edwyn up. Then, they slap him squarely in the face. Hard. The smile is gone. "All these years, Edwyn. All these years and you never told me? You think I wanted to be out here on the streets, stealing to pay for my daily bread? This may be fun and games to you, since you have your own home and family to fall back on, but I've got nothing. No home, no family, nothing to tie me to anything. All I had was this coat, and you knew, and you never said anything. You ******* prick."

Edwyn reels from the sudden blow to his beautiful face and holds a hand to his cheek. Yet, he still looks smug. Actually, he looks more smug than ever. "Consider this, my liege. I had an inkling, but not certainty. If you had come by that coat by other means, say, killing the actual last remaining heir and say that perhaps you had done so on purpose, perhaps to steal that destitute royal's last sum of gold." Edwyn steadies himself, regaining his gentlemanly posture. "Why, surely, a criminal such as that would silence anyone who knew, including a pitiful noble. Someone who killed the last hope the Sons of Alagondars had to fight back against our most generous and outstanding Lord Proctor Neverember would surely need to quell any rumors. I had to keep my eye on you, but truly, you are right. I should have said something sooner. Were my other fears founded in truth, no doubt, I could have found a way out." P.T. you notice he pointedly doesn't address anything else you said, avoiding the painful truth that your life indeed was harsh with lack of food and guaranteed shelter. 

"Nevertheless, all I can do is beg your forgiveness and offer you my services," Edwyn's smirk softens into a more serious expression. "The truth is, if what you told me earlier is true... You will likely land yourself in quite a lot of trouble, sire."

(A sentence appears on the top left corner of Edwyn's vision. 'P.T. will remember that.')

"I've been in trouble all my life, Edwyn. Something you know nothing about. Now, I guess there's no reason to hide anything. I have the deed to the Tresendar manor, and enough evidence to assume I'm probably somehow related to the Tresendars. I want to find that manor. If any of the Tresendars still live there, I want to meet them. If not, I'd like to reclaim it, fates willing."

"The odds of there being another living Tresendar are slim, but you say there is a manor? I take it this manor is here in Neverwinter, then?" Edwyn asks earnestly. The high elf absentmindedly fiddles with his book as he thinks outloud. "No, there most certainly wouldn't be a manor here in the city. I imagine... it must be out in that lush valley I told you about before. I believe there is a humble town there... what was the name again?" Edwyn tilts his head in thought. "P.T., if I may be so bold as to address you as such for now, I simply insist you allow me to help you in this endeavor. I will help you in anyway I can... within reason." He smirks.

"Out in the country? If that's so, we'll need some way of getting there. A caravan, perhaps? If any are passing through the area, it would be good to have a group to travel with. We ought to keep an eye out for some. Unless you can pull some strings and arrange some fancyman magic carriage ride to take us there."

"I'm afraid I don't quite have a magic carpet under my employ, but finding a caravan shouldn't prove too difficult. We need to see about any merchant migrations south. Even if things are starting to look up here in Neverwinter, I would never doubt the power of commerce." Edwyn shakes his head with a shrug. "Caravans usually need hired help, guards, mercenaries, and adventurers all. The best place to learn about such dealings would be a tavern or the merchant guild hall. Take your pick, really."

"Well, there are certainly no shortage of taverns here. Anything you need to do first, any angel book shenanigans you need to take care of, or should we start looking now?"

(On mobile, no formatting, plus I just fell down the stairs so I won't be verbose.)

Edwin seems to stare down at his book for a moment.  Honestly,  it seems like he is a little bit crazy to think an angel is whispering to him from a book. He looks up with a smile. "No. It would appear they would like to leave quite soon as well. Where would you like to venture?"

There is the Tower district tavern you know here. It usually has a lot of academic and noble types. Or you could hit up a dingy bar back in your turf.

(Oh, jeez, are you okay?)

P.T. blinks. Audibly. It's like a scene out of Spongebob, where the camera zooms up into their face, showing it in graphic detail, and their eyes squish closed and smack open with a loud plop. "Did you just... no, you know what, I've had just about enough for one day. I'm going to deal with that tomorrow, today I'm going to pretend like I never saw that." P.T. runs his tongue along his teeth as he thinks, absentmindedly stroking Socrates. "...As much as I hate to admit it, we'll probably find something better in the Tower district. They can afford good security. Got any clothes I can borrow that don't look like they've... well, any clothes that haven't been dragged through shit a hundred times? I probably won't be let in with just leather armor, however nice it is. We're not going to that kind of bar."

(I am a lot better. My wrist is fine now, but my butt still hurts lmao)

"Oh yes, I can arrange for a change of clothing at one of my hideouts. Here, I'll lead the way..."

TRANSITION! 

You both stand in front of the Fallen Tower, which currently consists of about 2 and a half floors. Halfway up the tower, you see signs of where this tower had faced some sort of calamity. There is rumble of the tower scattered around. You know that every night at a specific time, a phastasmal image overlaps with the Fallen Tower, making it appear whole. Then for the next hour or so, patrons of the Fallen Tower witness phantom thieves attempting to steal a mad wizard's treasure, and many traps going off this way and that, until finally the whole thing blows up with phantom flames and debris falling from the sky and phantom humanoids falling to their 'deaths' until the phantoms are no more and things return to normal. You know this is based on a true story.

History 10:

 P.T., you are dressed in some dapper attire. Edwyn changed his outfit too, wanting to avoid having charred signs of having been at that explosion earlier. You both step into the Fallen Tower. The interesting thing about the Fallen Tower, aside from the whole phantoms reliving their deaths thing, is that this area is considered largely neutral territory.

Back when the orcs invaded Neverwinter, a tribe of them took over the business and never quite left. Neverember is not quite able to kick the orcs out of the Fallen Tower as business is great and it could actually tarnish his reputation with the people who live in the Tower District, who more or less overlook the fact that the Fallen Tower is run by actual, factual orcs. Monstrous people, nobles, rich merchants, thieves, mercenaries all kinds are welcome at the Fallen Tower -- however, the rule is you have to act civil and dress the part. 

So when you step in through the door, you are met with a very interesting and colorful image of dapper orcs, well-dressed male drow, and other similar people acting as servers and bartenders while nobles and crooks hang about. 

What sort of person is PT looking for?

P.T. is visibly uncomfortable in his fancy dress, which fits him far too perfectly. They've rarely worn clothes that were perfectly their size up until now, and to have a full outfit that almost matches his dimensions down to the inch is downright uncanny. "This cravat is strangling me," they mutter under their breath, side-eyeing Edwyn. "How do you endure these things all day?"

They begin combing over the patrons, searching for someone who has a big yellow exclamation point above their head. Failing that, his search moves on to anyone who looks like they might have some sort of experience with such work. Someone who looks well-traveled, is dressed in a way that seems to suggest they spend a lot of time on the road. If he can't spot anyone, he'll head down to the bar to see what he can find.

(Ask and ye shall receive, let's initiate rockseeker.exe!!)

P.T. you find a fellow that sticks out just as badly as you do. It's a red-haired dwarven man with a magnificent red beard, which is braided completely. It seems there are 7 separate braids that make up his beard. However, its very clear he is not used to being dressed so nicely. His gentlemanly suit is ill-fitting and there are tears along the seams of his suit jacket. You can see he is trying to recruit a table of adventurer-shaped people, but they seem to be dismissing him. 

You manage to over hear their dismissal, "10 gold? You are looney if you think we'd do a job that cheap. You better find help out in the boonies or employ some dumb kids! Hahah!" The adventurer laughs along with his buddies. "For a caravan of any size, come back when you are 100 gold richer."

"There will be more gold! It just needs... some time." The dwarf sighs as the people at the table have already turned their attentions away.

"Ah, a man in distress who needs a favor," Edwyn grins. "My favorite."

P.T. glances at the disappearing adventurers, and approaches the despondent dwarf. "Pardon me," he says, extending a hand, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I'm... Pete, and this is my colleague, Ed. We're looking for a caravan to join up with, and we work cheap. You wouldn't happen to be passing through the town of... erm." P.T. looks to Edwyn, realizing that he doesn't actually know what the town is called. His expression says 'help.'

"E-Ed?" Edwyn blinks. But the dwarf seems to ignore Edwyn and focuses in on you.

"Oh, I see, I see, yes," this dwarven man swaps gear from beggar to businessman in the blink of an eye. "I hope the town ye want to travel to is Phandalin, yes sir. Beautiful place. Wonderful place. Full of adventure, I'd say." Or is he now a travel agent? "It's a wee little town, but it has character. Was ransacked by the gods awful orcs -- no offense, 'course," the dwarf nods his head politely to some wandering waiters who grunt in response. "Say, why don't we set ourselves at a table n' discuss the finer points. I'll tell ye 'bout the deal and perhaps it could make a fine match between us, what'd'you think?"

Edwyn finally snaps out of it and leans into you, whispering, "Phandalin is the exact place we need to go... curious."

"Well. That's very convenient. I think me and my friend here will have to take you up on that offer, go ahead and lead the way." As the dwarf goes ahead, P.T. will lean back to Edwyn. "I thought you might not want it to be known that you're off guarding caravans, on account of you being a rich pretty boy up in your gold-trimmed manor or whatever. Wouldn't want people whispering. As for me, P.T. is a bit of a conspicuous name, Pete is better if I don't want to raise questions."