The Tiny Tavern

Harpers... this could be a good way to fix my reputation with them. But I guess all of the fame go to half-elf. I will be just "some random elf participated the mission", would I? If that half-elf knew who am I and what I did for Harpers earlier, he wouldn't talk to me, would he?
Anyhow. I make no commitment being in this job. Anything I hear or learn I need not to share with Harpers if I don't think they should know

And I do need that money to buy some arrows and a sword. Once I have equipped I can take real adventuring job

Legolas cast wish full but sad look around the walls with old weapons, yellowing maps, and scribbled notes from adventurers long gone.

I will assume I did not hear about your plans to pocketing. And I warn you - if I find missing any of my belonging I will know whom to blame. Legolas makes i clear he do not respect thievery, but otherwise accepts the offer.

Briar chuckled, raising his hands with a grin. "Don’t worry—my fingers won’t be dipping into your belongings. I might be a bit underhanded, but I’ve got a code. I only steal from the rich... and the rotten."

He downed the last of his drink, setting the mug on the table with a soft clink. Leaning forward, he continued, his tone more serious. "Three of us should be enough for this job. Any more, and we’ll start turning heads we don’t want noticing. Masquerades are about masks, not crowds."

His gaze drifted between the two. "Do either of you already own a mask or something fancy enough to pass as noblewear? We can’t exactly show up looking like we crawled out of a back alley." He smirked. "If not, we’ll need to pay a visit to a tailor tomorrow."

I do not

Lunareth's face falls as Briar asks. "No. All I own are a couple sets of acolyte robes. I'd stand out like a dwarf in a treehouse, wouldn't I?"

Briar leaned back again, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face, as he studied the two elves in front of him.

"Alright." he said in a low, focused tone. "Maybe we don’t need to force all of us into masquerade masks and velvet capes, after all. This is a moving game, and we’ll play it on more than one board."

He pointed subtly to himself. "I’ll handle reconnaissance. Quiet look at the estate—get a sense of guard patterns, entrances, supply routes, that sort of thing. Nothing risky, just enough to start building the map in our heads."

Then he turned his eyes to Luna. "I sense you’re good with words. Charismatic, probably. You don’t scream ‘danger,’ and that makes people trust you faster than they should. I want you to start talking to the guilds and tavern folk. Ask who caters these noble parties—find out if anyone’s working that night. Barmaids, kitchen runners, even lamplighters. Offer a bit of gold if they’re willing to keep their ears open for us at the masquerade. Maybe even tip us off if someone important arrives, or disappears."

Briar paused, then looked to Legolas with a gentler expression. He recognized the unease in the wood elf’s eyes—the high-held values, the mistrust simmering beneath the surface.

"I can see you’re not one for disguises or deceptions," he said quietly. "And I respect that. But I also think your presence—calm, centered, with a bow close at hand—might keep this group from drifting too far into shadows."

He leaned in. "We’ll need a suit, and a mask. Nothing flashy—just enough to pass. And if you walk away from all this with even a single gold piece still in your purse, then you’ll have earned it cleanly. That I promise."

Legolas opened his mouth as if to object, then hesitated—thoughtful. He finally said, simply, "I know a tailor. Discreet. Honest. I’ll take us there in the morning." He didn’t elaborate, but something in his tone made it clear: this tailor was no ordinary clothier.

Briar nodded. "Perfect."

What Legolas didn’t say—perhaps what he couldn’t say yet—was that the tailor was part of the Emerald Enclave, a faction like the Harpers, but one rooted in nature, balance, and preservation. A quiet hand of the wild in the middle of the city.

Luna, meanwhile, took it all in with the watchful calm of someone who understood the game, even if he hadn’t yet played it himself. He knew the Harpers were not saints—but they were necessary. In a city like Waterdeep, light didn’t reach every alley unless someone tilted a lantern. And if a little law-breaking made that possible… so be it.

Still, this wasn’t a temple mission, and this wasn’t a parable. This was real.

"So," Luna said, standing slowly and finishing the last of his drink. "Briar sneaks. I talk. Legolas… guides us to someone who can make us look like we belong. Sounds like a plan."

Briar smiled. "That’s the spirit."

They left the Tiny Tavern. At least for now.

With a bow close at hand ? I'm not shooting at people. You never mentioned using force against people is part of the job, did you?

Briar raised both hands slightly, palms out, a placating smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

"Easy, my friend," he said, voice low and calm. "Didn’t mean at the party. No one's asking you to draw on a noble and start a brawl in a ballroom. I just meant… the image. A calm hunter in a crowd of prey. Watchful. Quiet. Patient."

He sat back again, letting the tension ease from the moment. "This job isn’t about force. It’s about finesse. Observation. Subtlety. If blades or bows come into play, something’s already gone wrong."

With a wink, he added, "And if it does go wrong, I hope we’re all smart enough to run before we find out who brought the sharpest weapon."

Zyra pauses to scan the tavern and takes in the other patrons. At 5'4" she is short for a Tiefling of her age. She moves gracefully to a free seat at the bar, furthest from the door, where she can get he back to a wall and have an eye on the most of the room, a keen eye will glimpse deep blue skin with orange spots under the shadow of her hooded cloak. The head of a spear pokes out over her shoulder, obviously in some sort of back scabbard. She hops up on a stool and flicks the cloak off her shoulders but keeping the hood up.

When Branic comes over, Zyra flashes one of her best smiles and quietly says: Hello Branic, we haven't met but you are well known in to those of us working our way out of the streets . I am Zyra, Emberfang. Zyra, if it pleases you. Might I have a meal and an ale?

She places a pair of silver pieces on the bar.

Beef and Root stew will be a treat after the last few weeks of scrounging off the midden heaps. Works been scarce lately for those working discreetly out of site. Too many "thinning the herd" from the other rancher's jobs for my liking. I'm more a "what's in the envelope" type. And I've no interest in making money between the sheets. She winks, goes to the hearth, ladles out a bowl of stew and returns to the bar. Got any warm bread for the drippings?

Born and raised in the streets of Waterdeep. Zyra dips the bread and takes a few bites of stew... Washing it down with a big sip of ale she looks up at Branic and continues softly;Any of those would be welcome. I'm not opposed to a job getting a little wet, I just wouldn't want that to be the goal.

Zyra continues her meal while Branic attends other patrons. When he returns, she says: This bread is worth the coin alone, that's a partnership worth keeping, but another ale would round out the meal. She pauses, glancing about to make sure no one appears to be eavesdropping. If you know of any jobs need doing, I'm available, and I'm Waterdeepian till the end.

Branic, there is a reason for your reputation in the dark alleyways and dangerous shadows. Word is, you can be trusted, even if the job is a little outside the law. I'll take that introduction.

Thanks Branric. I plan on coming back for another meal real soon. Zira finishes off her second draft. pocketing both the letter of introduction and the job posting then makes her way to the door.