Jorin finds Quillary’s room at the top of the building to be sparsely furnished, one of the windows thrown open to the weather, her cloak pooled on the floor in front of it. There was a little bit of a tussle getting in, as Twigroot, Quillary’s awakened shrub, was not entirely sure Jorin should be there, but the canny warrior managed to sidestep it and shut the door, leaving the thumbless shrub to stare at the shut door.

Not too much time passes before a mottled hawk lands on the windowsill, hopping into the room before noticing him, and then trying to get past as the barbarian dodges past to block the open window.

After some juking and feinting, the bird seemingly gives up, and Jorin delivers his plea. It watches him carefully, then tucks its head under a wing, and curls up, spores and feathers bristling as it grows and changes, spiky feathers becoming mottled hair, and the eventual bundle uncurling to reveal Quillary, who stands, glances at Jorin, then shamefully looks away and settles to the floor. (There is no bed, per se, more a kind of nest of tucked blankets and pillows.)

”I am no grand warrior,” she says, quietly. “That is your role, Jorin of the Bodt. I am just a frightened girl who pretends, at the best of times. I am undone by one of the cleansing forces of nature. I am not who I pretend to be.”

Jorin considers for a moment and says, "Maybe warrior means something else where you are from, I am not as familiar with words' egde as I am with steel's edge, but in my homelands, those who stand at your side, bathing in the battle blood of shared foes, are warriors."

"Tell me of what happened to you.  Let us start there."

She shakes her head and looks away, curling closer in on herself.

Jorin frowns and then says, "Come with me, and turns to leave."

Quillary is nothing if not curious, and though she is a little startled at Jorin’s sudden turn, she scrambles up to follow him out. Twigroot, outside the door, rattles its branches threateningly at Jorin, but lets off when Quillary hurries out after him and heads down the stairs, spores trailing after her.

(going to take this bits at a time so Mingo has a chance to react)

Jorin grabs his tools on the way through Road's End and heads out towards the forge.  As he approaches the smith, likely when Quillary realizes where they are going, he will say, "Find your footing, brave Quillary, in my steps."

While her pace slows, she will continue to the forge, even entering, though she will then put her back against the wall, pressing against it as if she were holding the building up. (I am assuming this is during the day, and thus that the forge has been lit and the fire is alive and hot.) Her eyes are large and round, and haunted, as she stares right into the flames.

(The fire is alive, aye)

Jorin lays a light hammer and set of tongs on the anvil.  He crosses the small shop towards the materials pile saying, "When I first entered Mithril Hall, Moradin's sons and daughters taught me to make a simple tool.  It was the first time I stoked a forge fire or picked up a hammer to ring the iron.  Much to my dismay, it was not a mighty blade, but rather a simple hook that I would use to hang my smith's apron from."

He pulls a small iron ingot from the stack and lays it on the anvil next to the hammer and tongs.  "This, you will do too, now, as it only takes a short time."

Her eyes follow him as he talks and gathers supplies. But she shakes her head. “I will not, Jorin. I will face fire when I must, as it is an aspect of rebirth, but this forging of bravery and a small hook is not a thing I must do.”

"It is better to prepare yourself for the crag cat than to wait and see how prepared you are when the crag cat finds you. Creating this hook is something you must do." 

He picks the hammer up, and offers it to her.

(OOC > sorry for the book, I may have gotten carried away. It’s fun to tell the story, finally, as it’s been burning a hole in my brain (sorry for the pun) since I came up with Quillary.)

Quillary shakes her head. “I will do this instead, I will tell you why fire makes me come undone. This is itself taking your hammer to my own forge.” She does not reach for the hammer. Her eyes unfocus as she recalls.

“As a child, I was loved very much, I was sown and raised in a family, in a village, on the edge of a great wood. I had a mother, a sister, an uncle, aunts, friends, bullies, pets, rain, a flower I raised in turn, a garden plot next to the wisdom’s, a roof and a floor, a sun, a moon, the night sky, all the things a life needs. I do not remember any of these. I have been told this.”

”This life was assaulted by reavers, ones who speak of honor, fight without it, who kill for pleasure and rut for power, who bleed and die and… burn. Our village died. I died.” She pauses to glance at Jorin. The fire of the forge dances, reflected in her eyes. “I do not remember this either. I was told.”

She looks back at the forge. ”I remember fire. I remember it well. I know the smell of it, when it burns wood, grass, flesh. I know the sound of it, mewling licks as it is born, greedy crackling as it feeds, hisses and whips and great crashes as it consumes, the quiet pops of embers as it dies. I know what it feels like. Dry. Tight. Coiled. Taut. I know it when I see it, and it knows me. When I woke again for the first time, I was buried under my life before mine, pressed down on me, I could not move. I was already a child, but not yet a person. I do not know how long I lay there. I was told it was a month at least. I did not hunger, or thirst, or sleep. I watched. I watched people. People who lay there, some burned so badly I could only guess they were people once. Some untouched by fire, eyes open, faces stilled in surprise, all their blood long past soaked into the ground. I watched as ashes blew past me, eddied up to me as a drift of snow. I watched as life… as life came back, Jorin.” At this, she looks at him again, and her face looks like it is seeing the dawn for the first time.

”I saw the smallest seeds, the spores on the wind, I saw plants bloom on the cheeks of the dead. I saw their eyes sink, and in their place, the reaching stalks of mushrooms, plants, weeds and flowers. I saw the bones appear as the ashes blew away, as life fed on life. I saw that the Veil is a door through which we pass through many times, but from which we never return.”

She blinks, and pushes off the wall, to stand. “I do not fear death, Jorin. I have died. But fear, like fire, is a part of life. Fear lets me know I am alive. It lets me know that I care for you, Jorin of the Bodt. That I would face even fire if I must to protect you. If I did not fear fire, I would not know myself. I would not know when an impossible task is one I can still overcome. I would not know when I must seek help, or when I must relent.”

She blinks, as if she has only just realized all that she has said. She blushes, but straightens her spine. “I will not forge a hook, nor will I befriend fire. But perhaps I can teach you to speak to the stones and the water and the sky, and they can teach you to speak to the fire.”

Jorin listens to her speak and for a moment there is silence as he considers what she said.  He would not have her befriend fire, but rather master it, yoke it to her purpose. After all, what truer victory over a foe is there? 

"Thank you Quillary, I would learn from you how to speak to the elements in the way you wish."

He turns the hammer over in his hand and eyes the small iron ingot lying on the anvil.  "You took a step away from the wall just now, towards the fire, "  He says with a smile, "The most powerful mammoth begins as but a calf.  I do not believe you when you say you are just a frightened girl, and some day I do not think you will believe that either.  May we begin tomorrow?"

(that was great btw, i'm glad we finally got her story!)

Quote from Mingofaust >>

(OOC > sorry for the book, I may have gotten carried away. It’s fun to tell the story, finally, as it’s been burning a hole in my brain (sorry for the pun) since I came up with Quillary.)

(Don't be sorry. When inspiration strikes, you've got to follow through with it.
And we are kind of winging it, so Q's story is worth exploring.)

Drusk notices that Quillary and Jorin are acting a little different, but he doesn't have the information to figure out what is going on.

Hildigrim's insistence on a big opening week, and the extra advertising literally pay off.
There had been rumors about health violations and vermin in the mansion, but people were convinced to give the Bistro a chance. The rumors were proved wrong.

The first week profit is: 90  (94-20 = 74, added to the party funds)
(That +20 GP advertising cost moved the roll from the 1st profit level to the highest, about a 70 GP difference.)

Renaer Neverember does not attend (busy elsewhere), but he does send most of his staff on day 2 to pack the dining room. Similarly, while the heads of the noble families are not in attendance, there are glimpses of second daughters and third sons or important lieutenants from quite a few noble houses: Amcathra, Margaster, Phylund, Rosznar, Cassalanter, Falgarst, and Silverhand. There is also decent attendance from the Guilds you worked with to get the Bistro running, as well as your neighbors from Trollskull Alley.

Volothamp is also missing, but sends a note that he will soon attend and write a marvelous review of the new restaurant.
(No mention of leaving the party in Skullport. This seems to be a form letter of some kind.)

(I'm going to force the group into the next adventure hook.)

After a very successful opening week, the Bistro will be closed the next day. After the last customer is out, the staff have a party that goes late into the night.
Pascal will stay in the dining room to watch over the drunken revelers.

Quillary decided to go to the City of the Dead, for some sight-seeing and quiet reflection. It is normally off-limits to the public, but Quillary does work there (sometimes paid, sometimes volunteer).
Jorin wants a quick language lesson from Quillary, and uses the opportunity to convince Drusk and Hildigrim to join him for a visit. (Don't think those 3 have seen the City of the Dead.)

The four of them have a relaxing time, seeing the historical tombstones.
There is another person in the graveyard, moving towards the group.
She is dressed as a maid, perhaps to a wealthy family. But her skin is an unhealthy pale-grey color, her face in anguish. She stumbles forward, aiming for Hildigrim.
Quillary is the first to notice: "Ghost."

”Ghost, keep well away,” Quillary tells the others, then proceeds to step in the way. “Miss, my name is Quillary, and I walk the Veil between this life and what is next. What keeps you here? I would like to help.”

The ghost reacts to Quillary's words, nodding in comprehension.
She tries to mouth words in reply, but no words come out. (The inside of the mouth is a bloody mess, mixed with an unnatural black void.)
There is obvious frustration at not being able to speak. Taking a moment to calm down, the ghost takes another step towards Hildigrim, pointing at him. But after a moment of insistence, it seems that she is pointing at the sack Hildigrim has over his shoulder.

It is the usual items Hildigrim carries around to keep busy.
A bunch of snacks, a notebook and charcoal pencil, some (light) arcane reading material, his arcane focus, two of the fire-damaged books that he is restoring (purchased from the Charred Remains bookstore sometime after post 850), Waterdeep newspapers, and a (self-defense) dagger.

When the ghost is identified, Hildigrim is instantly interested. He locks eyes with the creature and even steps toward it until Quillary gets in his way. But when the she-spirit continues to show interest in the halfling, his curiosity increases even more. He is beyond willing to be helpful, quickly emptying his bag on the ground. He begins lifting each item toward the ghost. "This?" "This?"

Quillary does not hesitate. “Miss, you may take my body to explain this to us, but know that I cannot help you if I remain possessed by you. Please make to temporary.” And she offers her hand to the ghost.

The ghost, tears freely flowing down her face, reaches towards Quillary, then quickly snatches back her hand. She is either unwilling or unable to possess Quillary.  (...Let's give Quillary a DM Inspiration for this brave act, and for the earlier interaction with Jorin.)

The ghost had her back turned as Hildigrim was going through the items, but fiercely turns about suddenly as Hildigrim holds up one of the books he got from the Charred Remains. She glides slowly towards the book, the pace quickening until she makes contact. Her form dissolves into mist, and disappears.

(Not one of the books he purchased at the time, but I imagine Hildigirm has stopped by there many times during downtime, looking for interesting books on sale.)

Hildigrim has been working carefully on restoring this book (among others) from the sooty fire damage. Can't rely on magic unguided, as the magic might destroy good pages to make them match the damaged ones, or erase the inks along with the burn damage. However, this book looks in better shape than before it was put in the sack this evening. (The trip to the City of the Dead and the ghost contact seem to have assisted Hildi's previous cleaning efforts.)

The leather-bound book with brass corner fittings has an intricately carved brass clasp that holds the book shut. Embossing on the cover depicts the same symbol seen on the ghost's servant uniform—a lemon tree with the rising sun behind it.

The book’s title appears handwritten on the first page:
Sarah of Yellowcrest Manor