As you gaze upon the floor of the Dread Dragon Inn, your eyes land on a massive rug in the center of the room. Upon closer inspection, you realize that the rug is made from the fur of an owlbear, a fearsome creature known for its sharp claws, powerful beak, and keen senses. The fur of the rug is thick and shaggy, giving it a rough, almost unkempt appearance.
You imagine what it would be like to take on such a ferocious beast. You picture yourself dodging its sharp claws and menacing teeth, chopping away at its health with impeccable precision, every blow a testament to your strength. As the owlbear launches towards you in one final attempt at your life, you deliver a deadly strike and it collapses to the ground. The villagers all emerge, hailing you as a great hero! They offer you praise, treasures, and even rename the town after you!
You snap out of it, wondering how long you just spent spacing out, daydreaming about this owlbear. You notice Finnian, the halfling curator, is watching you with a bewildered stare.
“Are you well, friend? I, too, am troubled by what has transpired.”
You assure the halfling that you were simply deep in thought, and his concern fades. In spite of all that has happened, Finnian remains calm and collected, choosing every word with care and precision.
“They say that death is the price we all pay for the privilege of life, yet for my old friend Auberon, and even for the alchemist Tua’la, the costs seem too steep. This is indeed a darker night than previously thought, and I fear the torch of justice is dampened by a great evil that permeates the very air we breathe! These are evil times, my friend.
Now, one must wonder what will become of Auberon’s precious relics? Surely Auberon would want them under the care of a professional, such as myself. I can arrange to have them transported safely to one of my museums, to protect them from would-be thieves and other ne’er-do-wells. Speaking of, do you have any leads as to the identity of the heinous criminal we have on our hands? Perhaps you’d listen to a few words of wisdom, as I believe I’ve narrowed it down to two suspects. Of all the vermin present here this night, none are able to lie so easily and readily as Federic the Valiant. His forked tongue would say a red rose was blue rather than speak the truth, and that wouldn’t be because the human suffers from a hereditary color deficiency in his vision. Of course, one must not overlook the young wizard, Ianstaer. Fame is the thirst of youth, and that cocky child is parched for glory to such a degree that I fear his morals may be corrupted, though considering his family hails from Stormwatch that’s not saying much. That far city is known for its aggressive ambition. As I said, these are evil times. I hope I can count on your strength when the time comes.”
