WATERDEEP — DAWNThe day after rain. The air still hums with petrichor and promise.

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  Kereska’s Favor sits in the Castle Ward like a half-tamed wolf: elegant enough for nobles, wild enough for mercs. The sign—a silver dragon curled around a cup—swings gently in the dawn wind, the sky behind it washed in blush-pink and sea-vender.

  Below, the tavern’s second-floor rooms glow with warmth. Firelight flickers under thresholds. Somewhere, steam hisses from the kitchen. Lorin Neverbrooke, perfectly dressed in ash-toned linen with her signature belt cinched just right, is already awake—gracefully rolling up her sleeves in ritual. She hums an old manor lulby, setting out fresh pastries.

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  MORNING, ROOM ONE — MEL AND MELDIA

  Melena “Mel” Antonescu lies curled on a woven floor mat near an open window, bare feet pressed against wood. Her skin is tan-olive, dappled with half-dried rain from the storm she stood in st night. Her long bck hair is tangled with feathers and moss. The thorn whip scars across her shoulder catch soft dawn light. She wakes slow, eyes not yet open, one hand gripping her sketchbook like a child might hold a stuffed animal.

  The room smells of pressed bark, wet earth, and soft ash.

  Across the chamber, slumped sideways across a too-rge bed:Melodia Starwhisper—4’8”, dark chocote skin shimmering, her vender corset dress slightly wrinkled, one thigh-high stocking still on, the other tangled in ribbon and dreams. A half-bitten pastry lies beside her on the pillow. Her silver-flecked eyes flutter. One hand clutches her moonstone choker, glowing faintly pink.

  She stirs, shes fluttering. A soft sigh escapes her lips—not speech, not music, just breath.The choker glows a bit brighter.

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  MORNING, ROOM TWO — DAKA (shirtless, of course)

  The rgest bed in the house creaks under the 7-foot bulk of Daka. He’s sprawled diagonally, shirtless, one hand over his belt of swagger, the other loosely gripping his fake intimidation gun. His reddish mullet fans over his pillow. He’s snoring at full volume, a kind of rhythmic warhorn. One leg is bent like he was posing for a wrestling cover mid-dream.

  The pirate hat sits neatly on a nightstand—dangerously exposed.If someone were to touch it now, it would trigger the Hat Hierarchy Protocol immediately.

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  MORNING, ROOM THREE — KRUMMAR

  Krummar Lindverg, the stocky duergar cleric, kneels shirtless on his tarp, both tattooed hands csped in morning prayer. The air smells faintly of vender and camellia—the flowers sewn into the cloth around him. His pale blue scale armor is folded nearby, shield polished, mace waiting.

  He mutters names as he prays.Some are dead. Some are here.His deep navy eyes open slowly.He smiles. “Another chance,” he whispers.

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  TAVERN FLOOR — LORIN, ALREADY IN MOTION

  Lorin Neverbrooke stands perfectly poised at the counter, slim frame upright, green eyes bright. She wears a perfectly fitted dress, sleeves rolled to her forearms, a tea towel tucked into her belt. Two wererats—Linguini and Risotto—scurry about behind her, lifting trays, lighting stoves, cursing in Undercommon.

  She adjusts a pastry tray and speaks to no one in particur:“They’ll be hungry when they come down. Especially the loud one.”

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  The tavern is waking. The party is stirring. Something is about to happen.(A knock at the door. A visitor. A letter. A flirtation. A mission. A mistake.)

  But before that—Mel breathes. Melodia sighs. Daka snores. Krummar prays.And Lorin, smiling faintly, sets the tea to boil.

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  MORNING, KERESKA’S FAVOR — CONTINUEDSunlight creeps into corners. The city stretches its limbs. The party begins to move.

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  ROOM ONE — MEL & MELODIA

  Mel exhales hard. Still half-asleep, she props herself up on one elbow. Her long hair sticks slightly to her shoulder. Her scarred back arches with a small wince—the kind that comes from years of sleeping on rough earth. The Gulthias staff leans nearby, resting upright in a corner like it chose its spot.

  She flicks a bit of moss from her bracer.Then looks over.

  Melodia is still curled like a cat, bare legs tangled in cream sheets, one stocking riding high, the other down her ankle. Her lips are parted, glowing freckles pulsing slowly with her breath. She mumbles something in Elvish—a dream name? A plea?

  Mel watches her for a second too long.

  Then, very softly, Mel tosses a feather onto Melodia’s bare thigh. It flutters gently, then settles.

  Mel’s voice, gravel-dry:“…You drooled on my sketchbook again.”

  Melodia stirs. Her eyes blink open slowly, shes catching gold light.She sees the feather.

  Her hand lifts to touch her choker, instinctively. It pulses pink.Then, in a whisper barely above thought:“It… wanted to be near you.”

  Mel stares.

  Melodia stares.

  A silence descends. Emotional Gravity tenses. Presence Scores shift.Comfort: +1. Glow: primed. Lust Layer? Dangerously close.

  Then:“I smell bread,” Mel mutters, standing with a shake of her shoulder scars.

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  ROOM TWO — DAKA

  The door bangs open without warning.Lorin stands there—arms crossed, emerald eyes sharp.She doesn’t knock.

  “Daka.”Nothing.

  “Daka.”Snore.

  She walks in—graceful, silent, unimpressed. She picks up a broom, jabs him in the ribs with the end of it.

  “DAKA.”

  He jerks up with a bellow:“WOT? WHERE’S ME PANTS? WHO TOOK ME HAT?!”

  He grabs the gun, filing it like a stage prop.Lorin doesn’t blink.

  “You’re not wearing pants because you stripped to flex in your sleep.”She gestures to a mirror. He had clearly tried a “cool pose” and passed out mid-bicep flex.“And your hat is… exactly where you left it.”

  Daka grabs it, cradles it.“Don’t scare me like that.”His Presence drops for a second. Then rebounds. He flexes again, testing angles.The belt of swagger glints. Codex Axis registers: Attraction +1 toward Lorin (unacknowledged).

  Lorin leaves with the broom like a queen departing a gdiator ring.

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  ROOM THREE — KRUMMAR

  He hears the thud from upstairs.He doesn’t react.

  Instead, he ys out a new name on his tarp. Not a dead one. Not yet.It reads:

  “Renaer?”His brow creases. Something’s coming.

  His tattoos glow faintly. The scent of vender deepens.He stands slowly, rolling his shoulders, gathering armor with the care of a ritual.

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  TAVERN FLOOR — 3 MINUTES LATER

  Mel arrives first. Bare arms, earthy scent, the scars on her right shoulder peeking out from her forest-toned tunic. She nods silently to Lorin and sits with her back to the window.

  Melodia floats in after. Corset dress re-tightened, beret slightly crooked, one stocking still missing (on purpose, probably). Her thighs shimmer faintly, her cloak swirling like a poem. She smells like vender sugar and moonlit sweat.

  Daka crashes down the stairs next, still shirtless, eating an apple and carrying his gun like a child with a toy sword. He greets everyone with a loud:“Oi, which of you stole my dreams st night? ‘Cause I woke up heroic.”

  Krummar descends st. Fully armored, eyes soft, shield strapped on. The air shifts slightly around him—his Glow Archive passive triggering calm.

  Lorin’s voice cuts through the warmth:“There’s a letter on the bar. Sealed in blue wax.”

  All heads turn.

  The city is stirring. The world is listening.

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  KERESKA’S FAVOR – MAIN FLOORLight dapples through the stained-gss windows. The tavern holds its breath. The letter waits.

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  The Party at the Table

  Mel stares at the blue-sealed envelope on the bar. She doesn’t move yet. Her gaze lingers on the wax—navy, pressed with a spiral sunburst symbol—unfamiliar, but charged. Her fingers twitch near her staff.

  Melodia, ever delicate, pads softly across the floor, her single stocking whispering with each step. She leans forward to examine the seal. Her hips sway as she bends, the curve of her corset arching softly as she studies it. Her fingers don’t touch it.

  “This isn’t from a faction,” she whispers.Her freckles shimmer.“But it’s watching us.”

  Daka saunters up behind her.“If it’s watching, it can admire.”He’s grinning wide, shirtless, biceps flexing from nowhere, one arm braced casually on the bar beside her.

  Melodia doesn’t even blink.“You’re sweaty. And loud.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Krummar stands back a moment, arms crossed. His navy cloak barely moves, but his tattoos glow slightly.

  “That symbol’s not divine,” he murmurs, voice like steel softened by dusk.“But it remembers things. Someone crafted it with grief.”

  Lorin wipes down a teacup. Doesn’t speak. Just watches.

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  Decision: Mel Opens the Letter

  Mel steps forward.

  Her fingers are calloused, her touch careful. She breaks the wax with the tip of a feather.

  She opens it.

  Her brow furrows.

  She reads aloud, gravel-voiced, quiet and strange:

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  “To the Ones Who Burn Too Bright—

  We saw your work in the ruins beneath Dock Ward. The memory of that night still echoes in the well.

  One of ours was not so lucky. Her name was Breya. She followed your trail, saw what you fought, and did not return.

  If you still believe in justice—meet us. Sundown. Where the moonlight touches the broken clocktower. Bring her name back.

  We are the Hands Beneath. We do not forget.”

  (The letter smells faintly of salt and cinders.)

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  Emotional Fallout — LIVE? Mel goes still.Guilt > 5 triggers.The air near her feet darkens slightly, moss curling inward.She sets the letter down and walks out the front door without a word.? Melodia watches her leave. Her choker pulses blue.She doesn’t cry—but she closes her eyes like she might be praying.? Krummar steps forward and touches the letter.He says, simply:“Breya is a name now in the tarp.”His Glow triggers faintly—silver light, like moon-blood on steel.? Daka breaks the silence with a crack of knuckles:“Clocktower, sundown. Guess I’ll wear a shirt.”(He won’t.)? Lorin, almost whispering:“That tower hasn’t chimed in twenty years. You’ll hear it tonight.”

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