Episode 0: The Arcadian Rose

It is close to midnight, and by hook or by crook you have found your way to the Arcadian Rose, on the island of Eglar. You have nothing but the equipment on your back, a few coins in your purse, and a passphrase for your Pale Deva handler Rhiann Vequaniel.

The three-story stone edifice rests at an intersection upon a hill overlooking the harbor, its walls covered in a layer of salt and hardy lichen. Unlike many of the homes in the neighborhood, the Arcadian Rose was built to withstand the strong ocean storms that crop up from time to time and has become a landmark for the locals. Perhaps for this reason the Arcadian Rose enjoys a brief area of isolation, her closest neighbor a general goods store across the way. Two braziers flank the main entrance and illuminate the front like a beacon.

You open the thick wooden door and step into a lively scene. As it is near the apex of the evening, most tables are occupied with a few citizens looking for an night of festivity and mirth, mixed with some individuals that seem out of place with their finery unsuited for the docks. The clientele range from human to halfling, dwarf to elf, and even a number of tieflings and gnomes.

Stepping past the orc bouncer at the door, you make your way to the bar where a middle-aged human woman commands the tavern. Her face as hard as the salted air, she maneuvers her girth along the counter like a masterful warship; not so much parting the sea, but the sea itself respectfully getting out of her way. She is dressed in working clothes covered by an apron, her hair bundled under a scarf that hangs upon her shoulders. She meets your gaze with an expression that would tolerate no wasteful time, though she politely asks what you will have.

You place your order. "A side of prawn, buttered. And a room for two," which is the passphrase you were ordered to use regardless if you arrived alone. The woman fixes you with a hard stare, then nods. "Aye, 'tis 10 silver for an outlander like you," she replies, and it is the correct response. This woman is Rhiann Vequaniel.



Rhiann summons a young Turami woman. "Morena, send this one to room three," she orders. The one known as Morena curtsies silently, her skirt barely brushing against the reclaimed wood floor. Morena is also dressed in working clothes and an apron, but her attire fits her frame near-perfectly and accentuates her youth.



The young woman escorts you up to the second floor, where there are three doors leading to individual suites. Despite asking for Room Three, you realize that none of the doors are marked with any numbers. Somehow Morena knows where to go, drawing a key to unlock the door and reveal an empty room. She points out the foot locker for your equipment and says that you may return to the common area where your order will be ready once it has been prepared. Morena advises you to not leave the tavern, for any reason, and heads downstairs.

One by one, each of you performs the same ritual. You are shown to a room on the second floor to drop off your belongings and asked to remain in the common area. As the evening is winding down, there are several tables available for you to choose from. The air has the aroma of steamed crab and pan-fried fish, seasoned to perfection. The flow of wine and alcoholic ciders moves freely from the tap to a number of waiting cups.

None of the occupants in the tavern seem to be paying you much attention. In fact, neither Morena nor Rhiann have acknowleged your presence since your arrival, at least through their own initiative. Morena moves among the tables (except for yours) to deliver food and drink, making light conversation with the locals before moving on. Rhiann addresses those at the bar and occasionally steps into the kitchen through a door behind the counter, either to deliver an order or to bring out a completed meal for Morena to take.

What do you do now?

The tables in the common room each hold their own conversation, and none pay any of you much attention for the time being. There are others who are by themselves enjoying relative quiet time, so you don't appear to be out-of-place in your isolation.

Spice and seasonings waft from the open door to the kitchen, and the sound of hissing pots on the boil mixed with sizzling pans add a layer of background to the numerous discussions and laughter in the tavern.

Aside from your bread and water, you haven't been given anything of food or drink. Morena is constantly on the move, and while she passes by your table more than once, she does not stop.

"Don't touch me!" snaps the dour man, reeling back from Rhodrick and warding off the nudge with his elbow. He eyes the sailor warily, instantly suspicious of the sudden appearance. His brown hair is a mop of wavy locks hanging just past his year, and looks like he might have worn a hat earlier in the day. The man's other hand is tight against his waist, where a dagger is peace-knotted.

The woman at the table, once bubbly and expecting something exciting to happen, seems caught off guard by just how exciting this encounter is. Her eyes are wide and face near-petrified, and she appears uncertain of what to do next. Her slender hands tug at the curls of her long blonde hair.

The third occupant of the table, a raven-haired man with seemingly much confidence, makes a dismissive gesture. "Easy, Cedrick," he says, holding back a laugh. He leans forward and addresses Rhodrick. "Forgive my friend. He's had a rough week and I thought coming here would help relax him. Come, sit and share a drink!"

All three are dressed in common clothes, nothing that stands out much amidst the general trend of the crowd. They are young and lack the weathered features of many sailors and other laborers, yet seem to hold themselves with some dignity and poise.

"I'm Foucaut," he continues, introducing himself. "The young miss is Eleanor. Er... you said you haven't seen me before? Perhaps you just didn't notice, as I'm something of a regular here. I don't quite recall seeing you, though."