On quiet nights, guests in the Yawning Portal gather around a large fireplace in the taproom and swap tales of distant places, strange monsters, and valuable treasures. On busier nights, the place is loud and crowded. The balconies overflow with merchants and nobles, while the tables on the ground floor are filled with adventurers and their associates. Invariably, the combination of a few drinks and the crowd’s encouragement induces some folk to pay for a brief trip down into Undermountain. Most folk pay in advance for a ride down and immediately back up, though a few ambitious souls might launch impromptu expeditions into the dungeon. Few such ill-prepared parties ever return.

Before you can attempt such a expedition, you all must gain experience...and funds. To which an opportunity comes in a form of a grieving mother, petitioning for help from the tavern's varied patrons. From word passing around, it seems she's offering a reward to find her children, who were part of an adventuring party. It presents an opportunity to gain experience, gain funds, and whatever loot the party had either lost or left behind.

Upon asking Durnan, he nods towards her table with a grunt as a group of people leave her table, shaking their heads.

"Hello, I am Dantos Sadru, my friens and I can help you find your children."

You've known Dantos for months now and he's always been hard on the outside and soft in the middle. 

Angus smirks as he tries to balance a flagon of ale on his snout, a few inn-goers gathered round him and cheering. The minotaur's brown eyes keep a close eye on the tankard balanced on the patch of white dividing the symmetrical patches of orange on either side of his broad face, though the ears below his horns are still pinned to the conversation nearby. He's been with this party long enough to know everyone well, and so is more than happy to let Dantos settle the talking whilst he keeps a small crowd entertained. High morale is a must for him; he's rarely seen without a smile on his bovine face, and despite the weight of the prophecy he bears pressing down on him, he easily manages to keep a happy-go-lucky attitude. He certainly didn't have a happy upbringing either; he fled the island of Cetinos to Faerun at a young age, fearing what would happen when he was discovered by the soldiers of the tyrannical King Kaligila, a dictator fixated on finding the legendary reincarnation of a great hero of light prophesised to guide his crew to the world's greatest riches, just so he could manipulate this child for his own gain. Even then though, Angus had a rough childhood on the streets of Waterdeep, with only his morals to guide him, honing his navigational skills as he grew. He'd been a part of all sorts of schemes to get by, mainly as part of crews of well-meaning pirates, but now, he's finally showing signs of his destined power through his spells, and ever since, he's been kicking around with this party, intent on helping them navigate their way to victory, and when all is said and done, the liberation of his people on Cetinos too.

Despite his small frame, Caldrin Vex carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone who knows more than he lets on—and enjoys letting others wonder just how much that is.

His moss-colored robes are well-kept but travel-worn at the hem, stitched with arcane sigils in curling silver thread. A pair of daggers ride at his belt, though it’s the glint of ink-stained fingers and the faint smell of old parchment that betray his true nature. His backpack, propped carefully beneath the chair, bulges with scrolls, books, and unidentifiable magical odds and ends.

The firelight catches on the lenses of a pair of thin spectacles as he peers toward the grieving mother. His face is unreadable for a long breath—then he turns to Dantos and Angus, already seated nearby.

“Well, then. I suppose it’s true what they say: every great tragedy leaves room for opportunity.” His voice is smooth and dry, like a page turning in a forgotten library.

“But tragedy or not, someone needs help. And if I wanted a quiet life, I wouldn’t be here.” He gestures toward the woman with a subtle flick of his staff. “We should hear her out—if her children were even half-trained, they likely left a trail worth following. And if not… well, it’s our trail now, isn't it?”

He glances up toward Angus’s gathering of tavern-goers and chuckles softly. “You keep the crowd happy, my friend. I’ll handle the ghosts and glamour.”

With that, he slides down from the chair, shoulders his pack, and strides toward the woman’s table—staff tapping rhythmically against the stone, each step carrying the weight of hidden knowledge and quiet purpose.

Damay stands to help ease  the woman to sit amongst them. He wanted to hear her story, and not lose the job, and having the prospective client close and not disturb but the other surrounding parties would make for an easier time conversing as well as get from other prying ears to try and under bid.

"Tis one of tbe greatest ripple effects of grand adventuring, the lack of communication and understanding of the families of those that brave the lifestyle. It's a shame one must come to these measure just to find peace of mind and knowing of one's fate but here we are. Tell us of your families heroics so that we may be best suited to assist."

Damay was a scrawny thing, could pass as a tall child if it was for the addilesnt attemp of a mustache and beard he was "growing". His cloak and attire looked new and neatly pressed. Clearly his clothes didn't show the wear and tear of a seasoned adventurer. A large crystal set in a goti piece hangs around his neck, in easy view. He's dress and mannerisms suggest a very secluded lifestyle surrounds by more books and manuscripts then other folks.

Easy to miss but occupying a seat on the table, a small, sinewy figure sits hunched in stillness. Quills shimmer across her back, ash-grey fur darkening to jet at the tips. She’s hardly taller than a halfling, but carries herself with a quiet, coiled menace, as if a cornered thing learned long ago to bite before it bleeds. Khazela has the black, walnut-sized eyes of a creature born for dusk and silence. Her whiskers twitch as she listens, measuring the hopeful in Dantos’s voice and the exhaustion in the grieving mother’s. The white-stitched leathers and monk’s wraps she wears are dusted with road and city soot, a pair of curved scimitars riding low at her back, twin shadows for her hands. Those who know the alleyways beneath Waterdeep have seen her slip through locked doors and old burrows, trailing the chill that lingers in places the living rarely tread.

It’s not greed or glory that brought Khazela to the Yawning Portal’s echoing halls. She followed the call of souls—restless, lost, sometimes screaming for release in the black miles beneath the city. The legends of Undermountain promised endless dead; but more than that, there are whispers of a relic below, one with power to sever bonds even the archfey cannot mend. She seeks it—not for vengeance, but for freedom, to unchain herself and her kin from fates written in someone else’s hand.

Now, her voice breaks the hush around the table—a staccato, accented Common, thick with the cadence of old tunnels.
“Lost children... need guide. I walk where shadows thicken. Spirits stir—hear them call, yes? You want find, I help find.” Her eyes flick from Dantos to Angus to Caldrin, then to the woman. “We bring them home, or bring truth home. Both worth gold.”

As the other group leaves the table, the woman gives a sigh. She then looks to Dantos and gives a polite bow of her head. Despite the bags under her eyes, it's obvious that she is used to polite etiquette.

"Greetings, I am Kerowyn Hucrele. I am a merchant of the town of Oakhurst. As you may know, I'm here seeking aid to find my children. They've left with their friends to pursue a local legend of town. And...they have yet to come back for a whole month. I fear the worst, so I hope to enlist a group of able adventurers to seek out my children's party. While I may not have much, I am willing to reward each adventurer 125 gold pieces each...and if they were to bring my children home, I'll double it."

Caldrin inclines his head respectfully, echoing the woman’s courtesy with a practiced grace born from years in academic circles and dusty noble libraries.

“Madam Hucrele,” he says gently, “you have my sympathies. A month without word is no small thing.”

He adjusts the strap of his scholar’s pack and shifts his weight to rest more easily against his quarterstaff, expression thoughtful but sharp behind thin spectacles. “I have found that when people go chasing legends, it is rarely the legend itself that kills them—but the truths buried just beneath it.”

He pauses for a breath, then speaks more directly.

“You mentioned your children pursued a local legend. If we are to trace their path properly, we’ll need to know what inspired their journey. What legend, precisely, drew them from Oakhurst? A place? A creature? A treasure? Any detail might prove useful.”

A subtle shimmer dances across his fingers as he idly taps the head of his staff—barely perceptible magic, like the tick of a mental clock already turning.

“I make it a point to understand the shape of a myth before I step into it.”

He falls silent then, eyes fixed on Kerowyn, not with suspicion—but with the calm, watchful attention of someone already assembling possibilities in his mind.

Dantos sits and listens respectfully. He also notices the little flare of magic. How fascinating!

True, any clues as to where the children might have gone will be most useful.

He hopes they can be found unharmed.

"I'm sure this won't come as a suprise to you but the lot of us are not so local to this place so please assume we know not of the legend you speak of while explaining. Also, and I understand this may be a large ask, but try and recall what your children may have mentioned about why they thought they could succeed where others failed. They must of had so new intel that made them bold enough to try such a feat where clearly the others you have spoken too are not." Damay was starting to get a little nervous about what this local legend could be that people would so openly turn down the job.

"It's a local legend in Oakhurst. A story about how the Ashen plains became what it is today. It was about a dragon and the cult that had followed them. Some calamity befell upon them, killing the dragon and dooming the cult. But what mattered to my children is the fortress that the cult had built. It may have been swallowed up in the ravine but the fort is still intact."

"That's how the legend came to be, the Sunless Citadel. A dragon cult's fort, swallowed by the land, but none know what lies inside."

"And to say what made them bold...I believe it may be when their final member joined. Although I'd call it more excitement, than bold. For they finally had found another to join on their adventure, and a paladin of all people. With only three, we'd argue about safety in numbers and needing experience. Then sir paladin visits our priest and is convinced to join their cause. My argument lost all grounds when he joined...so I gave what I could for their journey and wished them luck...A fool I was."

Dantos asks in a friendly manner, "So uh...where can we find this Citadel? Give us about how many days it will take to get there."

Khazela’s quills flick with restless calculation as the coins are named, her dark eyes glinting in the firelight. She tilts her small head, voice as dry and practical as sand in a cup. “One hundred, twenty-five gold. Each. For each of us—yes? For each child, too?” She pauses, brow furrowing, and holds up stubby fingers, counting under her breath with no attempt at subtlety. “How many you lose?” Her gaze is more assessing than compassionate; math before comfort.

As Kerowyn tells her tale, Khazela is only half listening—her mind’s eye tracing paths through ancient stone, ears perked for the word “dragon” and “cult,” and most of all, “fortress.” She shrugs, eyes narrowing with predatory focus. “I hunt—yes. Not from here. Know nothing of sunless citadels, only shadow ones.” She flashes the faintest of grins, sharp as a blade’s edge.

When Dantos asks for directions, Khazela nods, “We must find this place—need clear path, time, map if you have. Gloom walks with me, but I do not know these lands.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, neither rude nor especially gentle—just efficient.

She leans forward then, spines settling, and adds—awkward but earnest in her own way—“If children lost on border of life and death… I can help guide. Ease what clings. Bring them peace, if not path home.” The offer is sincere, but her lack of surface-world etiquette makes it come out more blunt than kind, and she seems unaware of how little comfort that might give a grieving mother.

Caldrin listens in silence, his expression composed, though a slight furrow creases his brow at the mention of a dragon cult and a fortress swallowed by the land. The term Sunless Citadel lingers in his mind like a half-remembered spell—unfamiliar, but promising.

As Dantos asks the question that’s on everyone’s mind, Caldrin gives a small nod of approval, content not to repeat it. Instead, he steps slightly to the side, giving Kerowyn space to answer, while his own thoughts continue to churn.

“A fortress built by dragon cultists,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to the fire crackling nearby. “If the structure still stands, even partially… that makes this more than a rescue. It’s a recovery.”

He glances to Khazela with a flicker of interest at her blunt honesty, then returns his focus to Kerowyn, voice gentle but clear. “You gave them what you could. That’s never foolish. The choice to follow hope… it only feels like folly in hindsight.”

His eyes linger on her a moment longer—earnest, if difficult to read behind the glint of his spectacles. Then he falls silent once more, simply waiting to hear her answer about the Citadel’s location, fingers once again idly tapping at the head of his quarterstaff like a ticking metronome.

"Near Neverwinter, the roads will take nearly two weeks to there but a ship will only take three. Then from there, heading to Oakhurst will take a day. Lastly, it'll be a way to the old road, leads to the ravine where the fort had fallen in. Hopefully with the start of summer, the weather shall be calm for travel."

OOC: Are there horses to rent? I don't think any of us can afford to buy one. If not, we need to stock up on supplies. There is a shop for that yes?

Caldrin Vex - Travel Inquiry

Caldrin nods slowly as he listens, committing the route to memory with methodical precision. Neverwinter by sea, then Oakhurst, then the old road to the ravine. A chain of steps toward something far older than any of them.

“Three days by ship is preferable to two weeks by road,” he says, tapping his staff lightly on the floor in quiet thought. “And the summer winds might even favor us, if the seas are kind.”

He glances toward Kerowyn again, tone measured but respectful.

“Would you happen to have the means—or connections—to secure passage for us on such a vessel? A merchant’s name, a dockmaster’s favor, or perhaps coin enough for the fare?” He offers a small shrug, not accusatory, but realistic. “We can manage our way well enough, of course. But your aid in that regard could speed things along. Time may yet matter.”

He offers a small, tired smile—one scholar to another, recognizing the limits of foresight. “And it would be one less thing for you to worry over.”

OOC: Ah, I was reading it as two weeks by road, three weeks by boat.

Quote from Wysperra >>

OOC: Ah, I was reading it as two weeks by road, three weeks by boat.

 (Same!)

Damay is still struggling with the fact that the other adventurers are so quick to turn down a job with a known location and merely days away. The money wasn't absurdly high but it wasn't insignificant either. "What were they looking for or hoping to find? Something so close and sounds like a known location, I imagine has had many of adventuring visitors by now and mostly picked clean of anything of significance IF the place is abandoned." Damay would plan to learn more of the local legends surrounding this cults fortress. 

Angus has withdrawn from his fooling around by now, and has now leant in to discuss the conversation he overheard. He'd been listening intently all the while, but his ears pricked up at the mention of travel by ship. He pipe up, saying 'I can help navigate when aboard the ship; I've got experience! Could save us a little on cash!' He smiles broadly as he watches the party hatch a plan, though doesn't interrupt. He just knows that they've got to shed some light on the Sunless Citadel, and rescue some folk, which just so happen to be in his area of expertise.