Act 1. Masks

Lunareth bowed to the dragon, unable to hide the wide grin plastered across his face. "Absolutely! My thanks; my thanks indeed!" All excited about the opportunity, Luna rushed out, heading back to the Tiny Tavern. Three minutes into his near-jog, it struck him. I was so excited that I left without asking that oh-so-helpful bartender his name. Her name. Its name. Oh well; I know we have to ask for Trelza tomorrow.

Luna reached the Tiny Tavern and headed right back to Briar. Somewhat breathlessly he described the encounter.

"Briar, listen here. This is great! That soiree? It's being catered by the Misty Beard, and they're looking for help. Two dragons a day if you're a bard or entertainer and two shards if you're waitstaff. Forget about going as guests. No one notices the help. We would be able to mingle among all the guests with complete impunity and immunity if we were to be serving drinks or canapés. I think at least one of us should attend the party via that method, but we all can get jobs if we need. The Misty Beard's bartender—the small flying one with the cute snout and gorgeous vest—told us to show up to their loading dock tomorrow and ask for Trelza. What do you think?.

Taking a breath, Luna looked around and asked, Did Legolas come back yet?

Briar leaned back slightly in his chair, watching the tavern door with a flicker of anticipation. The firelight played across the wooden table, casting long shadows that danced with the flickering warmth. When Legolas opened his mouth to speak, Briar raised a hand and offered a polite shake of the head. "Hold that thought," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Let’s wait for Lunareth to get here. No sense repeating ourselves."

A short while later, as Lunareth joined them, sliding gracefully into his seat, Briar offered a nod and a welcoming smile. "Good timing. Now, let’s hear what you both found." He listened carefully, expression attentive and thoughtful, nodding occasionally but offering no interruptions as his companions explained what they'd uncovered.

Once they finished, Briar leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a more confidential tone.

"Alright, here’s what I’ve learned—first off, that manor? It’s not just some rich person’s party. It’s a damn stage production. I watched it long enough to catch the rhythm—Lady Alenya’s pulling in the weird and the wondrous to distract from the real business happening beneath it all. I saw lizardfolk in ceremonial robes, oiled up and hauling crates. A faerie dragon buzzed through like a glittering sneeze waiting to happen, then vanished in a glamoured puff. Myconids waddling past with glowing trays of mushrooms. Even a necromancer with a cart drawn by zombies—four of them. The whole thing’s curated chaos, polished up to look like high-society art."

He paused, letting the absurdity settle in, then continued, "But while the guests are all flash and noise, the staff caught my eye. They were clean, efficient, focused. Mostly humans and half-elves, moving like they’d done this a dozen times. These people aren’t new—they’re brought in for this kind of thing. They know the layout, the routines. That’s where the cracks will be—if we can find them."

Briar took a sip from his ale and sighed before shifting the topic.

"Now, Lady Alenya herself—she’s not just a bored noble. Born Alenya Cragsmere, one of those minor noble lines with too much pride and not enough influence. She married into the Vaerlens—purely business, no love lost there. Her husband’s always away dealing with his estates, and when he’s in town, they barely acknowledge each other. No heirs. No warmth. Just money and reputation to keep polished."

He glanced between Legolas and Lunareth before leaning in further. "These parties? They’re her mask. Keeps the rumors at bay, keeps her occupied. But there’s more—my contacts say she’s been meeting people in secret. Letters. Garden meetings. The kind of stuff people don’t do unless they’ve got secrets worth hiding."

He gave a small, grim smile. "So this ‘masquerade’ is more than it looks. And I’d rather blend in as a guest than sneak through as a servant. Still, I think a mix might serve us better—eyes in both crowds."

He straightened up, folding his hands in front of him. "I’ll take the guest role. I know how to mingle, and I’ve got the tongue for conversation. Legolas, Lunareth—what would suit you best? A mask and silk, or the quiet path through the servant’s halls?"

Luna had no reservations. "It's the staff role for me, Briar".

I will. I'm afraid I will. Legolas answer with some hidden sadness in the tone. And he does indeed hold that and don't share with you anything even if you ask how he mean that.OK, honestly. I keep wondering why you need me. If you are are with Harpers indeed you most probably know about my history with them. I don't want to accuse you of an attempt to set me up, but ... That's the though I do hold. That's the though I hold.

He express his deepest apologies especially to Luna and announce he is abandoning the job.

I'll can introduce you to the tailor tomorrow midday when he will be expecting you to take measures before he start the job.

"Thank you, Legolas, but I doubt there will be any need for that. I'm going to work for the Misty Beard. On the one hand, that may reduce the freedom I have but on the other, it will make me all but invisible. No one is going to notice a slower-walking waiter who just happens to overhear a juicy tidbit or three."

Turning to Briar, Luna asks "What is your plan? Joining me tomorrow or visiting the expensive tailor?

Briar’s expression faltered for just a moment as Legolas declined further involvement. He didn’t try to hide the hint of disappointment, but neither did he let it linger. With a slow nod, he accepted the elf’s words.

"I understand," Briar said, voice low but steady. "I don’t know what history you have with the Harpers, and frankly, it’s not my place to ask. I’m not one of their chosen few—I’m a tool, something they keep tucked away until it’s useful. I wasn’t setting you up for anything, and if this feels like a trap to you... then that’s on them, not me."

He paused, taking a long sip from his mug before continuing, the edge in his voice softening into something more like resignation.

"Still, if you'd rather be done with this sooner than later, just give me your tailor’s address. I’ll meet them in the morning, get what I need, and you can consider your part done."

Briar turned slightly then, his mood lifting as he looked over at Lunareth and caught the flicker of pride on the half-drow’s face.

"Now that," he said with a grin, "is good news."

He set his mug down with a soft thunk and leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting with fresh energy.

"Dividing and conquering—it’s the smartest play. You blend in with the staff, slip through the cracks, and keep close to the back corridors and whispered conversations. I’ll be out front, all charm and silk, working the noble angle. If anyone’s spilling secrets over wine and ego, I’ll be right there to catch them."

He smirked and sat back in his chair. "Between the two of us, we’ll hear more in one night than most people do in a month. Just keep your ears sharp and your hands clean."

Legolas explain how to find tailor (address is concept he is still not used to). And note I assumed you would like fabric that catches little light, is easy movement and ... has generous pockets. But do tell him if you prefer different. He is master.


Legolas will visit the tailor right after conversation to explain the change in the order and the fact that he is out of the deal.

Lunareth looks after Legolas as he departs. "Ah well. Siun arael wutheh avae vandor."Turning to Briar, Luna asks "So I am to listen for any tidbits of gossip? Are there any topics which would be of particular interest to Those Who Harp? Should we meet up tomorrow night here at the Tiny Tavern or perhaps the day after, to ensure we aren't followed or otherwise compromised?"

Briar leaned forward on his elbows, the soft clink of his mug against the worn tavern table filling the space between his thoughts. The low murmur of the tavern blurred into the background as he locked eyes with Lunareth, his expression serious but tinged with quiet enthusiasm.

"That’s the plan," he said in a lower voice, tone more calculated now. "We watch, we listen. Get a feel for the guests. If any of them slip away from the ballroom—maybe into a side chamber or upstairs—we note it. You let me know, and one of us follows, quiet as a shadow. No confrontation, just eyes and ears."

He paused, swirling the remnants of his ale before taking another sip. "And if someone’s passing messages—notes, scrolls, whispered phrases tucked into folded parchment—I want to know. Tell me, and I’ll see if I can relieve them of the evidence without them ever noticing." A faint grin pulled at his lips. "Same goes for anything… let’s say unattended and opulent. If it looks like it wouldn’t be missed, well, consider it an investment in our future work."

Briar leaned back slightly, mug cradled in one hand, the flickering tavern lanterns throwing golden light across the silver flecks in his dark hair. He studied Lunareth for a moment—his cool, collected posture, the quiet sharpness behind his violet eyes.

"But first things first," he continued, his voice steady. "You need to secure that staff position. If Lady Alenya’s hiring outside help for the masquerade, odds are she’s looking for servants who look refined enough to serve wine to a room full of nobles without knocking over the tray."

His expression grew more thoughtful, gaze drifting toward the window where the moonlight peeked in. "If it doesn’t pan out, no harm done. Meet me near the tailor afterward. You’ll still need something fitting for the party—even if you end up entering through the front door instead of the servants’ entrance."

He nodded once, firmly. "Once we know your position—staff or guest—we’ll draw up the rest of the plan. But either way, we’ll be ready."

He raised his mug slightly in Lunareth’s direction before finishing off the last of his drink, the calm before the storm settling in around them like a second cloak.

Lunareth
Later that night, Luna stepped out of the Tiny Tavern. The moonlight dappled across the cobbled streets, and the music from inside still trickled out behind him, fading with every step.

He'd considered staying at the Misty Beard itself—but while the tavern was legendary for its drinks, waitstaff and ambiance, it wasn’t an inn. Not truly. A few private booths offered napping space for drunk patrons, but Luna didn’t feel like paying almost a gold for the luxury of sleeping drunk, upright in a velvet alcove.

The closest inns in the Castle and North Wards were stately, well-lit, and ruinously expensive. Even the smallest room in The Raging Lion would cost more than he would like to pay.

So maybe Luna could turn south, to the Dock Ward, where the stone was more cracked, the lamps fewer, and the shadows longer.

There was something honest about the Dock Ward, at least. Cheap, grimy, a little dangerous—but you always knew what you were getting. And what he needed now was a cot, a lock on the door, and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.Briar
Briar slipped through the maze of alleyways, his steps quiet as the hum of the city shifted with the falling night. Dock Ward always wore its grime and chaos openly—fish guts in the gutters, dockhands shouting half-drunk songs, the scent of salt and sweat clinging to every corner. But Briar knew its rhythms. Knew when to move, when to vanish.

Cod Lane was barely more than a scar between buildings, narrow and crooked, choked with refuse and often forgotten by the Watch. He reached the broken arch of what had once been a warehouse—now little more than a crumbling shell of stone and rotted timber. He slipped through a half-boarded door, the familiar creak masked by a distant ship bell. Inside, the space was cold and musty, lit only by the faintest moonlight spilling through shattered slats high above.

It wasn’t much. A pile of old rugs and a worn blanket in one corner, a battered chest holding spare clothes, tools, and a few pilfered baubles. An old tin lantern, rusted but still functional. The place was more shadow than structure—half-roofed, mostly forgotten—but it was his. Safe. Quiet. Unseen. Home.

As Briar settles in, the faintest scuff of movement echoes through the ruined shack. Someone’s here.

The creak of old wood echoed faintly through the shadows of Briar’s hideout—too deliberate to be the usual groan of the wind slipping through the broken beams.
Briar froze, every muscle tensing beneath his cloak. His hand slipped instinctively to his belt, fingers curling around the hilt of his dagger. The familiar weight grounded him. Silent as breath, he crouched low and began to move—each step measured, boots brushing against dust-coated stone.

The faint scent of mildew and soot filled the air as he crept past the discarded crates and tattered drapes he used for concealment. He didn’t dare draw breath too quickly.

Briar's shack, Cod Street, Dock Ward - Night
A sliver of moonlight caught the edge of a boot just beyond a stack of crates—worn leather, scuffed to hell, but still moving with the same careful grace Briar remembered. A figure eased out from the dark, slow and hunched like a wolf sniffing for scraps.

Kael Thorne. A rival from Briar's past—once a fellow street scout, now rumored to be working for someone far more dangerous.He looked like a ghost of the boy Briar had once known: gaunt, shadows under his eyes like bruises, his cloak too thin for the season and patched in places that told a story of too many nights in the cold. But his eyes—those sharp, green eyes—still burned with that twitchy, dangerous hunger. The kind that got people killed.

All a-flutter with excitement, Lunareth did not want to return to the cloister. He was bitten by the excitement-bug and wanted to coast along the adrenaline high. Looking through his meager funds, Luna thought I think I'm priced out of the Trade Ward unless I want to be penniless. Let's try the Dock Ward, so long as I don't have to navigate any dark alleys.

Luna headed down Salabar to River Street, and then headed West, crossing the High Road, the Way of the Dragon, finally turning left and heading south on Snail Street. After a pleasant walk, he made a right on Fish Street, heading west again, and then a left on Ship Street, heading southeast until the corner of Presper. Turning left on Presper, he headed to the second house on the left. Warm Beds, just as I was told at the cloister. Supposedly cheap, safe lodging and not much else. Luna headed inside to see about a bed for the night.

Fish Street, Dock Ward - Night
After a pleasant enough walk, Luna made a right onto Fish Street, the scent of brine and smoke growing stronger. Seagulls shrieked from the eaves above, though it was well past their bedtime. Luna’s thoughts began to wander again—and then stopped cold.

Something came.

It was not the thud of boots or the scraping of cart wheels. It was a whispering scrape, like meat dragged across stone, coming from the end of the alley that intersected Fish Street near the old chandlery.

From the shadows emerged a hunched form, eyes aglow with pale hunger. Skin like grave wax stretched tight over bones. Jaws slack, yellowed teeth clicking with slow anticipation.

A ghoul.

Even in the gloom, Briar recognized the silhouette—the sharp shoulders, the uneven gait, the way he let his coat hang open just enough to flash the weapons underneath. A flicker of relief passed through Briar’s chest, but it didn’t last long.

Briar eased his grip on the dagger, but didn’t sheath it completely. Just in case.
He stepped forward slowly, cautiously. "Kael... I haven’t seen you in a long while." His voice was calm, but edged with something wary—like speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile civility still hung between them. "You look... Are you alright?" His brow furrowed, genuinely concerned despite himself. "You look rough, like you’ve been through six kinds of hell."

Briar's shack, Cod Street, Dock Ward - Night
Kael gave a short, broken laugh—no real humor in it, just the ragged sound of a man frayed to the edge. "I need coin, Briar. Enough to disappear. I took a job a few months back—light courier work, nothing special, or so I thought. Turned out the package was for a damn beholder. Thing’s got more eyes than mercy and a memory like a steel trap."

He shook his head, voice hollow. "I saw something I shouldn’t have. Heard something I wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t even steal anything—not then, anyway. But now it wants me gone. And not just dead. Unmade. Erased."

Kael’s voice dropped to a whisper. "He sent a pair of wererats sniffing after me. They’re not subtle. Been tracking me through the sewers, through the godsdamned walls. I can’t sleep, can’t stay in one place more than a night."

Kael shifted his weight, as if suddenly remembering he was still in someone else's shadow. "I figured if I could just get enough gold, I could buy passage out. Change my name, start over. Do something that isn’t crawling under Waterdeep’s boots. Neverwinter, maybe. Baldur’s Gate. Cormyr if I’m lucky. Sembia if I’m desperate. Anywhere but here."