DEATH AT THE DREAD DRAGON INN
INTRODUCTION:

Long has it weighed on your mind the growing darkness you feel lengthening its shadowy reach over the lands of Estrea, and long have you witnessed the fell beasts and corrupted denizens of this world rising in power and number, their unquenchable thirst for destruction extending from the wind-swept hills of Athaica to the boggy swamps of the Troal Blesh. Yet you, great hero, have always answered the call to adventure. Some quests have threatened your very existence, taking you to the brink of death, but you’ve always managed to succeed in your dauntless pursuits. After your most recent campaign, you returned home to find a most pleasant letter from an old acquaintance waiting for you.

My most dear and favorable friend,

I, Auberon Greatstag of Breinor, do humbly invite you to attend the celebration of my 60th birthday this next great moon at the Dread Dragon Inn, a most remarkable establishment of my own humble founding.

Festivities will abound, and merriment will be had by all!

I do hope you’ll attend, old friend.
With warmest regards,
Auberon

Auberon Greatstag! You remembered him well as a mighty warrior, having joined him on one of his famous expeditions early on in your adventuring career. How good of him to think of you! A celebration would be just the thing you needed to help kick back and relax! You RSVP’d at once, and set your sights on the glorious and unforgettable night that would lie ahead in Breinor.

Your journey to the famed Dread Dragon Inn has been pleasantly uneventful, and you arrive late in the evening. While the exterior of the inn is dimly lit, it’s anything but gloomy. Before you’ve even drawn close, you can hear the sound of raucous laughter and the clinking of tankards from within, and bright lanternlight shines like a beacon from the windows.

As you push open the heavy doors and step inside, your senses are immediately assailed by a variety of smells and sounds. The air is thick with the scent of ale and roasted meat, mixed with the musty aroma of old books and the smoky tang of pipe tobacco. The inn is noisy, with patrons shouting orders at the barmaid and laughing boisterously over their drinks.

Scanning the room, you notice a wall of strange objects on display, encased in glass cabinets. Some emit a faint glow, while others seem to pulse with a strange energy. A sign above the display reads, “The Mysteries of the Arcane: A Collection of Rare and Powerful Artifacts”. A grizzled old wizard is examining a staff with a jeweled head, while a group of elves are debating the authenticity of a golden amulet.

As you make your way through the crowd, you notice that many of the patrons are wearing party hats and raising their glasses in toasts to Auberon, the innkeeper. Despite the rowdy atmosphere, there is a sense of camaraderie and celebration that permeates the air, punctuated by the warmth of the hefty logs burning in the grand fireplace.

Your eyes are drawn to a massive dragon skull hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. The skull seems to dominate the space, its empty eye sockets staring down at you with an unsettling eeriness. It is no doubt the skull of the great black dragon, Nymmut.

You see a group of young adventurers huddled together in one corner, planning their next quest over drinks. A pair of dwarves are haggling loudly with a halfling over the price of some magical artifact. In the center of the room, a group of rowdy goblins are playing a raucous game of dice.

Auberon is a tall, muscular man with weathered skin and a rugged, bearded face. Despite his age, he carries himself with the same strength and confidence he once had as a warrior and adventurer. His hair is a wild tangle of gray and brown, and his eyes are a piercing blue, keenly observing his surroundings.

His face lights up with recognition as he sees you approaching, throwing his arms wide and welcoming you with a bear hug.

“It’s been too long, my friend! How have you been?” Auberon asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Late? Heavens no, you’re right on time! The real party is yet to begin. Make yourself comfortable! We’ll get this riffraff out the door and get on with the real festivities.”

With tumultuous protest, the kitchen is closed and the many rowdy and strident patrons of the Dread Dragon Inn are slowly shuffled out. Several interesting-looking folk remain, however, and you quickly ascertain that they must also be personal friends of Auberon, specially invited to attend his celebration tonight.

You notice a bored-looking elf making small talk with a gentlemanly halfling by the wall of artifacts, occasionally striking a note on his lute and glancing about at the other guests.

A knight in extremely well-polished armor (and with extremely well-polished teeth) is regaling a siren near the bar, the large gestures of his hands seeming to indicate some great battle in which he emerged as the hero. The siren’s aquatic features fail to hide her obvious indifference to his dazzling smile.

The barmaid, a stout dwarf with a no-nonsense attitude, finally manages to shoo the dice-rolling goblins towards the exit before returning to the bar, where a formidable half-orc lounges with an ale-mug in each hand. She comments something you can’t quite hear, eliciting a menacing grin from the half-orc.

Clashing colors catch your attention as a young man in garish wizard’s robes sweeps past to join the lute-toting elf and well-mannered halfling in conversation. You notice the three are doing a poor job of hiding their discussion of the lone figure by the grand fireplace, a figure you recognize as an Infernal, the flames from the hearth highlighting her curving horns and sparkling robes. It seems she either doesn’t notice the attention of the three, or is ignoring it.

As the last of the Dread Dragon Inn’s regular patrons are ushered out, you observe a hooded figure quietly slip in past the crowd, seemingly unnoticed by the others, before making their way to a tucked-away corner and leaning against the wall. 

Auberon exhales a heavy sigh of relief as he latches shut the bulky wooden doors of his inn and a hush falls upon the room. He motions to the barmaid, who quickly sets upon the remaining guests with a tray of near-overflowing goblets.

“Dragonfire Mead!” exclaims the half-orc as he hurriedly takes the first goblet from the tray. 

“A special occasion such as this calls for a special toast! The finest of drinks for my finest of friends!” declares Auberon, now grinning from ear to ear and climbing his way to the top of a table in the center of the room.

As the barmaid makes her rounds with the tray of goblets, you grab one for yourself and are instantly hit with the heady aroma of honey and spices. Everyone gathers closer to Auberon as the barmaid hands him the final goblet of Dragonfire Mead from the tray. 

Auberon raises his drink in a toast to his old friends, a warm smile on his rugged face, the light of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the room.

“Friends, I am honored that you have come here to Breinor to celebrate my 60th birthday. It has been a long and eventful journey over the years, and I am grateful for every step of it.”

He pauses, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the faces of those he has known for so many years.

“Many of you have joined me in my tales of adventure, in the battles won and lost, the treasures found and lost again. Many times have we fought alongside one another, and at times even against each other, but what I want you to know is that this inn, this place that we call the Dread Dragon, is my greatest adventure of all, and to have you all here together is the greatest treasure of all!”

He raises his cup again, spilling a bit of foam over the edge in his exuberance.

“I have seen much in my time, but the loyalty and friendship I’ve collected, present now in this place, is worth more than all the gold in the world. And so I thank you, my friends, for all that you’ve done.”

The group erupts in applause and the room is filled again with the sounds of raucous laughter and clinking goblets. Auberon takes a long drink, and when he looks back to those gathered around, his demeanor sobers.

“Alas… I’m ashamed to admit that in the case of one of you, I’ve discovered that my trust and friendship have been sorely misplaced.”

A few unsure chuckles are heard, along with several audible gasps. A draft startles the flames of the hearth, and the giant dragon skull looming above sways with an unsettling groan.

“One of you, I’m afraid to say, has joined us tonight not with the intention to celebrate this joyous occasion, but to engage in the acts of a common burglar! To pilfer one of my prized artifacts!”

The gathered adventurers turn to look at one another, shock and confusion on everyone’s faces, a thick air of unease beginning to permeate what was, just moments ago, a warm and jubilant atmosphere. 

Auberon’s expression softens a bit. 

“But do not fret, friends, for we shall not let some would-be thief ruin this precious evening! For the past few weeks, my suspicions have grown that someone might be after one of these marvelous treasures, and they have foolishly left behind the breadcrumbs of their prying ambitions. Foolishly, I say, because as a friend, I would have gladly relinquished any item in my collection to any one of you without a thought! All anyone has ever had to do was ask.”

Auberon sighs with a shake of his head, the movement suffused with disappointment.

“Now friends! Let us unroot this scoundrel, so that the Dragonfire may continue to flow and I can enjoy this night of jubilation with my true friends!”

Auberon slowly scans the room, locking eyes with each of his guests in turn.

He draws a deep breath and raises his finger into the air, gripping the now empty goblet in his other hand. As he starts to speak, the breath catches in his throat and he coughs, interrupting his accusation. He drops the goblet to grab at his cravat. Though the fabric loosens easily, he still seems to be struggling to breathe. The group surges forward as everyone seems to snap out of their shock as one, but before anyone can reach Auberon at his perch, he pitches forward off the table!

You push to the front of the crowd. Though you can hardly believe it, as you kneel by his side, you can tell that your dear friend is dead. You check for breath, for a pulse, all the while desperately hoping this is some awful prank or spectacle, but no. You shake your head as you glance at the others that have drawn close. Your attention is pulled back to Auberon’s still form lying on the floor. Something here doesn’t look right, and that’s not to mention the timing…

Everyone begins to move at once, and you look up to find that some of the guests are even sidling towards the exit!

“Seal the door!” a voice shouts through the commotion. “No one leaves!”

The room freezes, and a chill sweeps through as the realization strikes home. You stand, taking in the faces of the group around you. Someone here did this. Someone killed Auberon Greatstag. But who? 

And so the night begins. What was supposed to be a celebration of Auberon’s life has abruptly turned into a mystery surrounding his sudden death. Who killed this retired adventurer? How, and why? Perhaps you can solve his murder, but you’ll need help. You spot a few other guests that seem up to the task, but can you trust them? For now, you’ll have to; it’s the only chance you have of figuring out who murdered Auberon Greatstag in the Dread Dragon Inn.