In the bustling city of Baldur's Gate, nestled along the Sword Coast, stood a unique tavern known as the Dryad and Drow. This establishment was a harmonious blend of contrasting elements: living woods intertwined with black polished stones, vibrant plants coexisting with sharp metals, and luminous mushrooms casting an ethereal glow. The decor was a testament to its co-owners, reflecting the fusion of their distinct heritages.
Bramble, a male dryad, embodied the essence of the forest. Airy and ethereal, he communicated exclusively in rhyming limericks, his presence bringing a whimsical charm to the tavern.
His partner in business was Din, a female drow whose demeanor starkly contrasted Bramble's. Sharp, curt, and often condescending, Din's judicious nature ensured the tavern's operations ran smoothly. Her dark elven heritage was evident not just in her appearance but also in her commanding presence and keen intellect.
The tavern's atmosphere was further enlivened by Avy, a towering female goliath who served as both bouncer and barkeep. Cheerful and boisterous, Avy's hearty laughter and jovial nature provided comic relief, endearing her to the patrons. Her strength was unquestionable, and her ability to handle unruly guests was unmatched, yet she did so with a warmth that made the Dryad and Drow feel welcoming.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over Baldur's Gate, a paladin by the name Sir Winterbourne, made his way through the city's winding streets. He approached the entrance of the Dryad and Drow, the sounds of lively chatter and clinking glasses emanating from within.
Sir Winterbourne ensured he would make a first impression. As she shouldered his way into the tavern the cold trendles of the winter air chasing in after him he stood in the entrance way, allowing all heads that turn to take him in.
He stood in full plate mail, this action alone audacious. The breastplate emblazoned with a unicorn and lion, his helm tucked under one arm, the other hand resting on the sheathed hilt of a longsword.
His sky blue eyes scan the room briefly, taking purposeful note of each face within before making his way to the tavern's main bar. Avy, normally offering boisterous greetings at any who enter the Dryad and Drow was uncharacteristically stunned a moment. The paladin far from the clientele the tavern usually suited, his presence an uneasy one.
He walked in a purposeful stride towards her, the sound of metal jingling against metal cutting through the din of whispers and conversations that had started again. He had an air of importance. Then again all paladins did, Avy thought to herself.
This one seemed young though. Despite gray kissing his short swept back brown hair, and tired wrinkles drawing maps across his forehead and the corner of his eyes, his features still had the roundness of youth. Late 20's the Goliath thought to herself. What was most notable however was the tight drawn unsmiling lips that were placed beneath the most splendid moustache.
The Paladin stilled at the bar, placing his helm down on the counter looking at her expectantly offering no first greeting. After a moment's beat Avy finally caught herself, a wide welcoming smile easing her face.
"Well I'll be!" She booms jovially, swooping down behind the bar to look at the paladin more eye-to-eye.
"Been a while since I've seen a paladin in this part of town, let alone at the Dryad and Drow. You just here looking for directions?" She asks, laughing only half kidding.
The paladin offers a polite smile, a genuine appreciation touching his eyes at her light hearted nature.
"I'm Sir Winterbourne, my good lady." He offers with a polite half bow.
"Oh, uh.. Avy." she offers back, giving a nod feeling a little out of place. "Can I get you a drink Sir Paladin?" She asks. "Oh, I know, likely something fancy right? An Elvin wine?" She asks already moving to get one.
Sir Winterbourne nods, his posture easing some leaning up against the bar, though he remains standing and does not sit. As Avy works his eyes move about the bar again, trying to make it as casual as possible though clearly searching for something.
From the shadows of the tavern, Din watched. She often remained hidden in the interplay of light and darkness, preferring to observe rather than participate unless absolutely necessary.
This new arrival was a rarity: a paladin, and one with presence enough to silence even Avy’s booming voice for a heartbeat. That alone piqued her interest.
The polished black stone behind the bar reflected the gleam of his armor as he leaned casually, though Din could tell it was a calculated ease. He wasn’t just idling; he was hunting. Not with malice, no, his eyes moved with the purpose of someone seeking something specific, or someone.Din remained still, her drow instincts making her almost one with the shadows.
At the bar, Avy clinked a bottle of fine elven wine against a crystalline goblet, pouring with more flourish than usual. Her broad grin was hard to miss, her booming voice unmistakable.
“You know, most folks coming through here are looking for a stiff ale or something cheap.” Avy’s tone was teasing, but there was a genuine warmth in it. She placed the goblet in front of him with a playful wink.
“Careful with that one. Goes down smooth, but it’ll knock you on your armored backside if you’re not used to it.”
The paladin accepted the drink with a polite nod, murmuring a quiet thanks. His gaze drifted again, sharper this time. Din couldn’t tell if he was aware of her yet.
She decided to test him, just a little.
With the precision of someone well-practiced, Din shifted slightly, allowing her form to emerge from the shadows behind the counter without a sound. She positioned herself where she could watch without being obvious, casually checking the ledger as though it were her sole focus. The glow of the mushrooms caught the faint silver embroidery of her dark tunic, a subtle flare to anyone observant enough to notice.
If this Winterbourne was worth his salt, she’d know soon enough.
Sir Winterbourne took a considerable drink from the wine, holding it there in his mouth for a moment savoring the sharp pungent taste and welcoming burn. Avy was not kidding, from the heat alone it was clear that it very much did pack a wallop. His eyes settle on Avy for a moment.
"This is quite the impressive establishment." He starts in a conversational tone. "Even for the diverse nature of Baldur's Gate. It's not often you see a goliath so far from the mountains and rarer still that you see a dryad."
Sir Winterbourne’s eyes take the opportunity to wander as the conversation gives him an excuse to try to locate the male dryad. He spots her immediately. A razor's focus flashing in his blue eyes as they land on Din. Holding onto her eyes unabashedly, not turning from her own threatening stare. He holds it a moment longer than would be a comfortable social norm pointedly before turning back to Avy with ease. Showing he felt no threat to turn his attention away.
"I heard there is even a drow here too." He adds matter-of-factly, "Tell me of her."
Avy blinked, momentarily taken aback by the paladin's casual observation. She wasn’t one to flinch in conversation, but the pointed weight of Sir Winterbourne’s words struck her as unusual.
“Oh, the drow,” Avy said after a moment, recovering her smile with practiced ease. She gave a slight shrug, leaning on the bar as though this were any other casual topic.
“You heard right. Co-owner, actually. Din runs a tight ship ‘round here. Keeps us all in line.” Her grin widened, a playful twinkle in her eye. “Not that anyone’s ever accused her of being too warm and welcoming, if you catch my drift.”
Avy glanced briefly toward where Din stood, the drow now openly watching the exchange with that cool, piercing gaze of hers. Dropping all pretense of reviewing the ledger. It was impossible to miss the way Sir Winterbourne’s eyes had lingered on her, nor the unspoken tension simmering between them. Din’s posture, casual yet somehow taut, suggested she was weighing her options.
"She’s... particular," Avy continued, carefully choosing her words. “Knows what she wants and doesn’t tolerate nonsense. It’s what keeps this place runnin’, even if Bramble’s rhymes threaten to drive us all mad.” She chuckled thinking about the dryad's ability to delight or annoy the patrons with his cryptic poetic airy way of talking.
Din’s sharp voice interrupted them both, cutting through the ambient noise like a blade.
“If you have questions about me, Paladin, I’d suggest you ask them to my face. Avy is an excellent barkeep but hardly an authority on me.”
The drow stepped forward from her shadowed vantage, her movements graceful and deliberate. She crossed the space between them with a predator's confidence, her crimson eyes locked on him. Stopping a few paces from the bar, she folded her arms, the silver embroidery on her tunic catching the faint glow of the tavern’s lights.
“And what exactly is it you’d like to know, Sir Winterbourne?” she asked, her tone smooth and cold. Her gaze flicked to his helm resting on the counter and then back to his face. “I wasn’t aware that the Order of the Lion and the Unicorn was in the business of investigating taverns.”
Even after Din’s apparition he holds Avy’s eyes for a moment, pointedly making the drow wait for his attention. Avy looks between Din and Sir Winterbourne. Her usual boisterous personality often subdued by Din, but this was even more sobering for her. Clearly there was some unseen battle or relevance going on that the goliath could not understand but felt in the worst way.
He stiffly turns to Din, his posture straightening up to his full length as he does.
"Ah Lady Din," he says with leveled ease, he gives her a light bow, however his eyes do not leave hers as he does. "is this tavern in need of investigation?"
He asks countering her sharp words implying that she may be confessing to something.
Din’s expression didn’t waver as she observed the paladin’s subtle power play, though a glint of irritation flickered in her crimson eyes. Her sharp features remained composed, a mask of practiced neutrality honed through years of navigating the treacherous dynamics of both the Underdark and the surface world.
“You mistake me, Sir Winterbourne,” she replied, her tone laced with a cool, cutting politeness. “If you see guilt in my words, then that reflects more your assumptions than my actions.”
The drow unfolded her arms, stepping closer, the subtle click of her boots on the polished stone floor echoing faintly in the suddenly hushed tavern. She tilted her head slightly, a hint of amusement curling the corners of her lips as she regarded him.
“However, if you’ve come to investigate, I do hope you’ll clarify the crime. Serving overpriced drinks, perhaps?” She gestured toward his goblet, her voice dripping with feigned innocence.
Behind the bar, Avy shifted awkwardly, her towering frame somehow shrinking under the palpable tension. Her eyes darted between the two, her usually jovial expression caught somewhere between confusion and concern.
Din held her ground, her presence commanding despite the paladin’s imposing stature and shining armor.
“Or perhaps you simply wished to see for yourself whether the tales of the mysterious drow co-owner were true?” Her voice dropped slightly, her words quiet but no less sharp.
“If that’s the case, then I am here. Ask your questions, Sir Winterbourne. I have little patience for games, subtle or otherwise.”
The air in the tavern felt heavy, the exchange drawing the attention of a few nearby patrons. Din’s gaze bore into his, unwavering, as though daring him to try and unsettle her. For the first time his expression eases slightly.
"I can respect that." He says truthfully.
While honed to play such quick battles of wit he also found it a tedious unnecessary repartee before actually getting to anything of substance.
"It seems there are more than just the two of us eager to hear our exchange." he acknowledges, his eyes flicking briefly to Avy next to them, though in truth it was most of the tavern at this point. Few had the bravery to talk to Din at all, let alone appear to be holding their own against her.
"Perhaps you can find a more private place for us to converse?" he asks, though his tone is more a direction than a question.
When he suggested a private conversation, Din arched a single white eyebrow. His tone wasn’t lost on her; he was testing her boundaries, asserting himself without outright hostility. A balance she found both intriguing and irritating.
"But judging by how familiar you are already with my name, I'd say you have already expected and well prepared for this meeting." he says with an easy air of purposeful 'i noticed', as he never introduced himself to her, but she was already using his name with ease.
Her gaze flicked over his armor, the proud crest of the Lion and the Unicorn gleaming under the faint glow of the mushrooms. The faintest smirk tugged at her lips when he acknowledged her knowledge of him.
“You’re not as enigmatic as you think, Sir Winterbourne,” Din replied coolly, though her tone held a faint trace of amusement. “Men of your order tend to leave... ripples in their wake. The name, the crest, the reputation… it’s hardly a secret, even in a place like this.”
The drow straightened, her poise regal as she took a deliberate step back. “If privacy is what you seek, then follow me,” she said, her words clipped yet inviting no argument. She cast a glance at Avy, her expression hardening slightly as if to silently remind the goliath to remain focused on the bar.
Without waiting to see if the paladin would follow, Din turned on her heel, the faint rustle of her tunic and the measured click of her boots on stone the only sound as she led him toward a discreet side door.
Sir Winterbourne, true to his chivalry, produces a coin and pays Avy for the wine served to him. He gives her a polite nod with a brief 'my thanks' before leaving the half full cup there, gathering his helm and walking behind Din.
As he trails her his eyes are not idle, nor is his brain. Every effort is made to remain as perceptive as he can, trying to gather details and insights into the tavern, and Din herself.
Beyond the door lay a narrow staircase, winding up to a private sitting room above the tavern. The walls were lined with dark wood, the furniture an elegant blend of shadowy iron and supple leather. A single window allowed a sliver of moonlight to spill into the room, accentuating the contrast of light and dark.
Din stepped inside, gesturing briefly for him to enter before closing the door behind them. She moved to a small table in the center of the room, pouring herself a drink from a crystal decanter.
“You seem to have gone to some effort to find me,” she remarked, her tone neutral as she sat down, crossing one leg over the other with casual elegance. “So tell me, Sir Winterbourne- what does the Order of the Lion and the Unicorn want with me?”
He settles across from Din, sitting this time. With well practiced ease he sets his helm at his feet and sits at the edge of the chair to give room for his longsword. Stiff, proper and only remotely comfortable looking.
The room was breathtaking. It was not lost on even the carefully regulated paladin. The mix of the dark sharp decor, caressed by the gentle silver moonlight evoking a certain sad beauty in the room about them.
As Din pours herself a drink he finds his eyes taking in her features as well. He had, in truth, never seen a drow before. They were exceptionally rare above ground. She looked as ethereal as any full blooded elf, especially to his human eyes. But the black skin and white hair added a chilling ghostly charm. Whereas a high elf evoked delicate grace, Din evoked deadly strength.
With one hand resting in a casual but pointed stance on the hilt of his sheathed sword still, the other rests at the edge of the chair as he addresses her question.
"What do you know of the 'Circle of Skulls'?" He asks, cutting to the point of his inquiry.
Din swirled the dark liquid in her glass, its surface catching the faint silver glow filtering through the room. She studied Winterbourne over the rim, her sharp crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly at his question. For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and deliberate. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and edged with caution.
“The Circle of Skulls,” she repeated, each word drawn out as if testing their weight on her tongue. “Now there’s a name one doesn’t utter lightly.” She leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable as she set the glass down on the table with a soft clink.
Din’s fingers drummed once against the polished wood before she continued, her tone measured.
“A group steeped in blood and secrecy, if the rumors are to be believed. Necromancers, mostly. Their name alone inspires enough dread to keep most people silent, though fear has never been my preferred currency.” Her eyes flicked briefly to the sword at his side, a subtle acknowledgment of the paladin’s readiness.
“What interest does your Order have in such a group?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice carried no hint of accusation, but there was a careful curiosity in her words.
“They’re not exactly in the habit of frequenting places like this, nor do they openly antagonize your kind. So what is it, Sir Winterbourne? What brings you here, to me, with such a question?”
Din’s fingers curled loosely around her glass again, though she didn’t drink. She watched him intently, her gaze as sharp as a blade as she waited for his response. The paladin’s stiff formality amused her, but she didn’t let it show; her instincts warned her this wasn’t a man to underestimate. The way he carried himself, the directness of his question, it spoke of purpose, and Din had learned long ago that purposeful men were often dangerous.
He regards her, carefully considering his own options. He'd have to dance a delicate balance between asking the right questions, without giving away too much himself.
"My Order," he begins, the words carefully considered "have been aware for some time that The Circle of Skulls have returned. No longer based in Waterdeep, but digging in new roots here." he gestures lightly with a gauntleted hand "in Baldur’s Gate."
His eyes trail to the liquid as it rises to her dark lips in a slow indifferent sip.
"This migration was before my time, and while known by a number of holy orders, as you so eloquently pointed out, they never antagonized my order so we'd little care for their presence." He explains, his words easing under the longer explanation, an almost conversational tone touching his smoothe baritone.
As he finished the sentence a sharpness touched his features again, his brow furrowing slightly, and as he spoke an almost visible and audible snarl about his lips and voice. A thinly controlled anger flashing behind his sky blue eyes.
"We've reason to care now." he says pointedly.
Din lowered her glass, her movements measured and deliberate, as though considering every word he’d said. Her crimson eyes flicked over him, noting the subtle shift in his tone and demeanor. The anger lurking just beneath his polished exterior wasn’t lost on her. She’d seen similar flashes of barely contained fury before. Men driven by vengeance or righteousness, often indistinguishable until the consequences of their actions revealed their true nature.
“So, the Circle of Skulls has made itself a nuisance to the Order of the Lion and the Unicorn,” she said, her tone calm, almost clinical. “And now, here you are, chasing their trail to my doorstep.” Din leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table.
The moonlight caught the faint silver embroidery on her tunic, casting a cold gleam across her figure.
“But that still doesn’t answer the real question, Sir Winterbourne. Why me? You don’t strike me as a man who wastes his time on half-measures, so what is it you think I know, or can do, that will aid you in this little crusade of yours?”
Her voice, though steady, carried an edge of irritation. Din didn’t like being drawn into conflicts she hadn’t chosen for herself, and the Circle of Skulls was at the top of that list.
Still, the paladin’s arrival intrigued her. He wasn’t like the usual self-righteous types who passed through Baldur’s Gate, posturing without purpose. There was a weight to his presence, a gravity that demanded attention.
Din’s gaze didn’t waver as she added, “And before you answer, consider this: if they’ve truly dug their roots into this city, then you’re not the only one being watched. The Circle of Skulls doesn’t leave loose threads, and I don’t appreciate being tangled in someone else’s noose.”
There's a moment's hesitation as though doubt touches him for a moment, but he presses on, his voice firm and commanding.
"And you boasted Din, that you like to cut to the heart of the matter."
He leans further still in his chair, narrowing the space between slightly.
"Dinafae Kinate is your full name is it not? Or is there some other drow that frequents Baldur's Gate with the name 'Din'?" He asks with a sarcastic bite, then catches himself, taking an even breath he continues, his tone more respectfully neutral.
"You were one of the original members to reestablish the Circle of Skulls in Baldur's Gate, some three hundred years ago." He states, not accusing, simply claiming fact.
Din’s expression didn’t falter, but the faintest flicker of tension betrayed her for a fraction of a second. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a calm, practiced indifference. She regarded him in silence for a long moment, letting the weight of his words hang between them like a drawn blade.
Finally, she leaned back, crossing her legs with deliberate ease, as if his revelation were a matter of little consequence.
“Three hundred years ago,” she repeated, her voice smooth and measured. “You make it sound so... dramatic. As though I personally orchestrated the downfall of Baldur’s Gate.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm, though her crimson eyes remained locked on his, unblinking.
“Let me correct you, Sir Winterbourne,” Din said, her words razor-sharp. “I did not reestablish the Circle of Skulls. I merely... observed. I was young… foolish, even. Curious about power and its many forms, as many of my kind are. But the Circle of Skulls? I quickly learned what they truly were. And I walked away.” She leaned forward now, mirroring his posture and narrowing the space between them further. “Would you like to know why?”
Her voice dropped lower, colder. “Because even by the standards of the Underdark, they were monstrous. Obsession with death, power over life… they reveled in it. They weren’t seeking balance, or even control. They were chaos incarnate, wrapped in the guise of necromantic academia. I wanted no part of that madness.”
Din’s gaze softened, if only slightly, as she continued. “So yes, Sir Winterbourne, Dinafae Kinate is my name. And yes, I was there when they made their first forays into this city. But I severed all ties with them long before your Order ever cared to notice their existence.”
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She straightened in her chair, her tone hardening again. “Now, if your purpose here is to drag me into this mess out of some misplaced suspicion, I suggest you think twice. I am not your enemy. But if you’ve come looking for information…” Her lips curled into a faint smirk. “That will depend on what you’re offering in return.”
Frustration gripped him.
He was gratified to hear her acknowledge her part, and that she may have information that could aid him, but it was clear she had finally found her means to have a hold over him, and in truth, he had little to offer in turn.
This all swirled in his head, the only betrayal to his reaction being a slight flush that touched his cheeks. His eyes, having been carefully on her face, take in her full form as he leans back. Polite, but drawing over her stance, potential strength and keen to ensure she had no hidden weapon or prepped spell components.
"You misunderstand Dinafae," he says, purposefully using her full name. "I'm not here to negotiate with you. You will divulge what you know to me."
He says with such a calm commanding air that it almost didn't seem like a threat but simply an assertion of his unwavering will.
Din’s smirk widened slightly, though the amusement in her expression was laced with something sharper. Disdain, perhaps, or simply the satisfaction of watching the paladin struggle to maintain his composure. His calm, commanding tone would have unsettled lesser beings, but Din was no stranger to such tactics. She had faced beings far more intimidating than Sir Winterbourne, and she had survived them all.
"Will I?" she asked, her voice soft yet dripping with mockery. She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the table and steepling her fingers. The faint glow of the room framing her sharp, elegant features in cold light.
“Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for one of your flock. Someone who quakes at the sight of your armor and bends the knee to your authority.” Her crimson eyes bore into his, unblinking. “I assure you, Sir Winterbourne, I am no such thing.”
Din let the silence stretch for a moment, her gaze unwavering. Then, she eased back in her chair, her tone softening slightly, though her words remained pointed.
“But let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I do share what I know. What happens next? Will you march into the heart of their lair, sword blazing, and demand they repent? You’ll forgive me if I don’t have much faith in your plan. Or lack thereof.”
She lifted her glass again, taking a slow, deliberate sip before setting it down with a quiet clink.
“The Circle of Skulls is not a foe you can defeat with sheer willpower, no matter how noble your intentions. They are cunning, ruthless, and more entrenched in this city than you realize.”
Her tone shifted then, becoming almost conversational, though her gaze remained sharp. “So tell me, Paladin, what exactly do you plan to do with the information you demand of me? Because if you think you can intimidate me into compliance, you are sorely mistaken.”
He does not answer her questions.
He has his plans, he has his orders, he has his own information about the inner goings on of Baldur’s Gate that Din did not.
He eases back in his chair some, equally as unmoved by her mocking show of power. Though he could not deny that she had a commanding presence. One that would be easy, and perhaps even fun to get lost to. His own self conviction was too strong to be humbled.
"You have been out of touch with them for 300 years," He says, the annoyance heavy in his voice but an air of sadness plays within it "and you feared them back then. I ask you then, Dinafae, do you think they have been idle? What do you think they have become capable of now?"
He says with an air that it was less of a question and more of a suggestion that he, in fact, did know what they were capable of now.
Din’s smirk faltered, just slightly, at his words. The faint sadness in his tone, coupled with the weight of his suggestion, struck a chord she hadn’t anticipated. For a moment, the room felt heavier, the moonlight spilling through the window seeming dimmer against the tension between them.
She didn’t answer immediately, letting his question and its implications settle in her mind. Her fingers traced idly along the rim of her glass, though her focus remained on the paladin. His conviction, his unflinching gaze, and his calm assertion of the Circle’s growth unnerved her, though she would never admit it.
“You assume much, Sir Winterbourne,” she said finally, her voice quieter, devoid of the sharp mockery it had carried moments before. “Yes, I feared them. And perhaps you’re right to suggest that my fear was well-founded. But do not mistake my absence for ignorance. I may not know the specifics of what they’ve become, but I am not blind to the signs.”
She straightened in her chair, her crimson eyes meeting him with a steady intensity.
“The whispers in the streets, the strange disappearances, the air of unease that clings to certain parts of this city… I have noticed these things. And if you’re here, seeking answers, then I imagine you’ve noticed them too.”
Din leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her tone shifting to something more serious, more genuine.
“What I do know is this: they were dangerous then, and I have no doubt they are even more so now. Whatever it is they’re planning, it will not be small, nor will it be easily stopped.”
Her gaze softened, if only slightly, as she added, “And yet, here you are. One man, walking into their web with nothing but your sword and your conviction. I cannot decide if you are brave, foolish, or simply desperate.”
Din paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied him closely. “Perhaps all three.”
She sat back again, her expression hardening once more.
“You want my help, Sir Winterbourne? Fine. I will give you what I know, but only on one condition.” She folded her arms, her tone brokering no argument. “When this is over, when your crusade is finished, whether you succeed or fail, you will leave me and my establishment out of your order’s purview. I will not have your actions casting a shadow over the Dryad and Drow.”
Din’s crimson eyes bore into his, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Do we have an agreement?”
“You don’t appreciate the patronage of honest men Lady Din?” he asks in a rare instance of humor, her own easing of her nature encouraging him to do the same.
“Mistress Din” She corrects him sharply, her words a corrective whip.
He pauses only a moment, and then with the humor abated and the cool calculated tones returned he addressed her once more.
“I can agree to that insofar as not to make the Dryad and Drow a unnecessary destination.”
His eyes narrow slightly as though trying to see through her in his distrust “You understand I would give no soul full impunity of all deeds, past or future.”
Her posture remained as predatory as ever, though her tone had softened just enough to suggest a touch of amusement.
“And I wouldn’t expect impunity. That’s far too much to ask of a man of your conviction, isn’t it?” Her crimson eyes glinted with the faintest hint of mockery, though not without a measure of respect for his resolve.
“But I accept your terms, with one clarification,” she continued, her voice growing colder. “If this crusade of yours ends with the Circle of Skulls crushed beneath your righteous blade, I expect my name to remain as distant from their ruin as possible. You may dig up their roots, but you will leave mine undisturbed. Whatever shadow hangs over me, I have earned its weight myself, and I will not have it compounded by association.”
Din’s gaze held his, as if daring him to challenge her stipulation. She had lived long enough to know the price of making bargains, especially with men like him. Men bound by codes of honor that often left ruin in their wake, however unintentionally.
“I will tell you what I know,” she said finally, her voice calm and steady. “But in return, you will remember that your enemies are not mine, Sir Winterbourne. And I will not have my hands dirtied by their blood, nor my name sullied by your holy war.”
He considers, his hand raising to smooth out the length of his moustache in a pensive action.
He holds the fiery reds of her eyes. She was largely an impenetrable mask to his perceptions, but he wasn’t ignorant. She sought to separate herself from a past mistake. Given the less than favorable reputation of drow’s as a race, and Din’s seeming genuine care and love for her tavern, he could understand and respect wanting to be removed from further reputational harm.
It had not passed over him unnoticed that she had asserted twice that she was not his enemy. In truth, in her assertive way he perceived this as her asking for his amiability. In truth, he did not perceive her as an enemy, but saw her uncertainty on the matter as a benefit to him.
“You are clever and cautious,” he offers the rare compliment “I’m sure we could spend a full evening honing down every edge of an agreement.” He says not in humor but in truth. “I am in agreement Mistress Din.” he says the word a little clumsily, it striking an odd cord in him “Provided I learn no new information of a current involvement by you with the Circle of Skulls”
Din’s lips curled into a faint smirk at his correction, though her gaze remained sharp and unwavering. "Mistress Din," she repeated, as if savoring the weight of her title on his tongue. "Much better, Sir Winterbourne. I do so appreciate a man who learns quickly."
Din watched him carefully as he spoke, the hesitation over her title didn’t escape her notice, nor did the measured precision of his words. He was treading carefully, she realized, though not out of fear. No, this was a man who weighed every action, every syllable, with purpose.
“Then we have an accord,” Din said after a moment, her voice low and steady.
She inclined her head slightly, a gesture that was almost gracious, though the sharpness in her eyes hadn’t softened.
“Your conditions are reasonable, and I would expect nothing less. I have no desire to rekindle old ties, especially not with a group as insidious as the Circle of Skulls.”
She took another measured sip of her drink, her gaze lingering on him over the rim of the glass.
“However,” she added, setting the glass down with a quiet clink, “I’ll warn you now. What I know may not be what you’re hoping for. The Circle does not leave loose ends, and even whispers of their movements are dangerous to pursue.”
Din leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to just above a whisper.
“But I can tell you this: their migration to Baldur’s Gate was not a coincidence. This city’s power, its corruption, its sprawling underbelly, it suits their needs perfectly. They are not rebuilding here; they are thriving.”
Her fingers traced idly along the edge of her glass, her tone growing colder.
“Whatever you plan to do, Sir Winterbourne, do it carefully. The Circle of Skulls is not a foe you can confront with brute force alone. They deal in secrets, in whispers, in death itself. If you misstep, they will not just kill you, they will make an example of you.”
He was almost surprised to hear her words of caution. As though she cared about what happened to him. He would be touched if he didn’t feel like she had some sort of other purpose behind them. He did not push the matter.
“I’ve no fear of being made an example.” he says matter-of-factly and perhaps a subtle reassurance. “As you pointed out, I’m one man. A single man can be killed, even brutally. But I am also something more,”
His hand raises almost subconsciously to touch the beautifully carved silver lion and unicorn that rests over his chest on the breast of his armor.
“I am a relentless oath, and that can never be killed. It will simply be taken up by another.”
His hand lowers and he clears his throat, regulating himself once more, a little taken aback at his own sharing of his feelings on the matter.
“You have offered me little more than what I would have learned at a-” he pauses, a whisper of a smile touching his lips “tavern.” he finishes. “Do you have names of those who are associated with this cult? Both current, and when you walked amongst them?”
Din’s expression tightened ever so slightly as Sir Winterbourne’s words settled between them. His conviction, almost poetic in its certainty, struck a chord in her. Not admiration, necessarily, but something akin to reluctant respect. He truly believed in his cause, and that belief gave him strength. But it also made him predictable, vulnerable in ways he likely didn’t realize.
She studied him in silence as he touched the emblem on his armor, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor, the brief flicker of humanity behind the steel. When he finally leveled his question at her, the faint smirk returned to her lips.
“Names,” she repeated, her tone carefully neutral. “You seek the most dangerous currency of all. The Circle guards its identities more fiercely than anything else. Even in my time with them I rarely knew the true names of those involved. They cloaked themselves in titles, symbols, and shadows.”
Din’s fingers tapped absently on the polished wood of the table as she considered her next words.
“There were a few I knew of, though they may be long dead or worse, something other than dead. One called himself Vorrik, a human necromancer with a mind as sharp as his cruelty. He was one of their leaders, a visionary in their dark arts. If he still lives, he would not be hard to spot, his experiments often left him... disfigured.”
She paused, her expression darkening as if dredging up the memory of something unpleasant.
“Another was Sirisheva, a tiefling woman with crimson skin and eyes like molten gold. She was... persuasive, to say the least. She handled their recruitment efforts and had a talent for bending even the most steadfast to their will.”
Din leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest.
“These names are old, and I cannot guarantee their relevance. If they’ve returned, there are likely new players involved. People who have buried their connections so deeply you’d need a graveyard’s worth of luck to unearth them.”
He lets out a breath akin to a disappointed sigh leaning back in his chair slightly regarding her as she speaks. He’d remember the names, but the races associated with them would mean they were long gone.
“And of the longer lived races?” He asks with an air of impatience. “Surely you were not the only elf-” He pauses a new thought entering his mind.
His brow furrows once more, this time pointedly noticeable. His face remarkably changed under the heavy brow, setting the wrinkles upon it and about his eyes in dark lines, making him look more aged than he was.
“You’ve mentioned twice now that the Circle never leaves loose ends. Are you not one Mistress Din?” he asks, a new edge entering into his voice.
Din’s crimson eyes narrowed at his question, her sharp features hardening like steel under a hammer. The shift in his tone and the pointed edge of his words struck deep, but her mask of composure held firm. She let the accusation hang in the air for a moment, her silence deliberate and heavy.
“A loose end, Sir Winterbourne?” she repeated, her tone carrying the venom of a dagger’s edge. “Hardly. I walked away, yes, but I did so on my own terms, and they allowed it.”
Her gaze bored into his, unflinching, as she continued.
“Do not mistake their ruthlessness for carelessness. They knew I had nothing they couldn’t afford to lose, and they knew I was wise enough not to cross them.” A faint, humorless smirk played on her lips. “The Circle does not waste effort chasing those who pose no threat, and I’ve made certain to keep it that way.”
Din’s fingers tapped lightly on the table, her movements slow and deliberate.
“As for your question about elves I will admit this: I was not the only one. There was another. A sun elf by the name of Noraleth. He was... peculiar, even by their standards. A scholar, obsessed with unraveling the mysteries of undeath. He believed in the Circle’s cause, or at least in their potential to advance his own experiments.”
She paused, her expression darkening as though recalling something unpleasant. “If Noraleth still exists, he would be a force to reckon with. He had a mind like a razor, and no sense of morality to dull its edge.”
Din’s gaze softened slightly, though her voice remained firm.
“But as for me, Sir Winterbourne, you would do well to tread carefully. I may not be your enemy, but I am not your ally either. Do not make the mistake of thinking me defenseless simply because I’ve chosen to stay out of the Circle’s way.”
Her lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. “Now, unless you have more accusations to levy, I suggest you conclude whatever business you want with me.”
“Forgive me Mistress Din,” he says with a polite chivalrous air. “You’ve been nothing but helpful and accommodating. I stepped too far.”
His expression eased and there was a sincerity in his face. He recognized that she had offered him a lot, including a name to chase, and he had offered her nothing in return.
Din regarded him for a moment, her crimson eyes searching his face. His apology, though unexpected, seemed genuine, and the sincerity in his expression softened the tension that had been building between them. She leaned back slightly in her chair, her posture relaxing just enough to signal that she’d accepted his words.
“Apology accepted, Sir Winterbourne,” she replied, her tone calm and measured, though her eyes retained their sharpness. “I’m not accustomed to knights and their manners, but I can appreciate the gesture.”
She picked up her glass again, taking a slow sip. His eyes trail over her raised wine again, focusing on the black lips as deep as night, the shine of the silver moon through the window illuminating them briefly before being lost behind the edge of the cup. His eyes trail back up to meet hers. They were already on him, unabashed in watching his every movement. She sets it back down with a light clink.
“You’ve stepped into a viper’s nest, whether you realize it or not. The Circle of Skulls is not an enemy that can be bested through sheer force of will alone. If you hope to survive, you’ll need more than names and whispered rumors. You’ll need allies.”
Din’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, as if weighing her next words carefully.
“You’ve shown me respect, and you’ve been honest in your intentions. For that, I’ll offer you one final piece of advice: do not underestimate their reach. The Circle’s influence runs deep in this city, and they have a way of making even the most loyal turn against you. Trust will be your greatest weapon and your greatest weakness.”
She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping just above a whisper.
“If you find Noraleth- or anyone connected to the Circle- you would be wise not to face them alone. Even the most righteous crusaders have been undone by their own hubris.”
Din sat back again, her expression unreadable, though her tone softened just enough to hint at a sliver of genuine concern.
“Now, is there anything else you require, or shall we consider our business concluded for the evening?”
He nodded and stood, the weight of his armor falling about him in a chorus of shifting metal on metal. He swooped only for a moment to gather his helm once more, tucking it under his arm, his hand once more resting on the hilt of his sword.
“I require nothing else of you. You’ve my appreciation again for offering as much as you have.” he gives her a slight bow of respect, his eyes lowering for a moment.
“But I would be remiss without asking in turn. Is there anything further you may require of me?” he offers politely, giving her the opening to request anything that she felt would make the exchange more even for her.
Din watched him rise, her gaze unwavering as he moved with the careful precision of a man burdened by both his armor and his convictions. Her crimson eyes followed the bow of his head, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before she leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers thoughtfully.
“Anything I require of you?” she repeated, her voice carrying a faint note of surprise, though it was masked quickly by her usual calm detachment. Din considered his offer carefully, her sharp mind weighing the potential advantages of aligning herself, however loosely, with this paladin.
After a moment, her lips curled into a faint smile, more contemplative than sardonic this time.
“You’re an interesting man, Sir Winterbourne,” she said, her tone quieter now, almost musing. “Few come to me with questions, let alone gratitude. Fewer still offer to repay the favor.”
She tilted her head slightly, the moonlight catching the faint silver embroidery on her tunic as she studied him.
“I will ask only this: do not make a habit of coming here. The Dryad and Drow thrives on its... reputation, and your presence threatens to upset that delicate balance.” Her voice grew sharper, though not unkind. “If you must return, make it discreet. I will not have my patrons thinking I’ve taken up dealings with knights and holy men.”
Din’s smirk returned, though it carried an almost playful air this time. “And if you do happen to find yourself face-to-face with Noraleth, or whatever remnants of the Circle still linger, consider surviving long enough to tell me how it ends. I admit, I’d like to know if the great Sir Winterbourne is as relentless as he claims to be.”
Her gaze softened slightly, and she raised her glass in a gesture that was equal parts toast and farewell. “Good luck, paladin. You’ll need it.”
There is a shine that touches his eyes for the first time at her expressing interest in hearing of his victorious exploits.
The cool calculating drow, who by race culture thinks men as little more than servants and play things, voicing that he strikes her as interesting and that she would look forward to hearing of his victory strummed to life something deep inside of him. For a moment he was left unsure of what to say.
“Thank you Mistress Din.” he says straightforwardly, the name coming more smoothly to him now.
He turned carefully to the door of the stairway they had entered from looking over his shoulder to see if she was planning to leave as well, holding the door open and letting her go first, or simply turning for a final farewell if she was deciding to stay.
When he paused by the door, she remained seated, her hands resting lightly on the table’s edge. For a brief moment, the drow woman considered rising, meeting him on equal footing for a final exchange. But no, she stayed where she was, the faint glow of the moonlight casting her in shadow, adding to the air of mystery she cultivated so carefully.
“I will try to avoid the Dryad and Drow going forward. I hope it continues to be prosperous, ” he offers and pauses again, his mind searching for something more. “It is truly beautiful.” he adds, the casual compliment uncomfortable for him, but for the first time between them spoken softly in heartfelt sincerity.
Din’s crimson eyes softened ever so slightly at his parting words, though her expression remained composed. The sincerity in his tone, the raw, unpolished honesty, struck her as peculiar, yet not unwelcome. She was accustomed to compliments, but not ones spoken with such careful thought, as if the speaker were unsure whether the words would land true.
“Thank you, Sir Winterbourne,” she said softly, her tone measured but sincere. “The Dryad and Drow is a reflection of its creators. An odd union of contrasts, thriving against all odds. Perhaps that’s why it endures.” A faint smile played at the corners of her lips, though it carried the faintest hint of something melancholic.
Her gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer than necessary before she inclined her head, a subtle gesture of acknowledgment.
“Safe travels, Sir Winterbourne. May your cause prove equally resilient. ”
With that, she turned her attention back to her drink, her slender fingers trailing idly along the glass. As he made his way through the door, she didn’t follow, content to remain in the quiet solitude of the room.
But as the sound of his armored footsteps faded down the stairs, Din allowed herself a moment of reflection.
He was an anomaly, this paladin—a man of conviction, unyielding and yet… unpolished, unsure in ways he likely didn’t even realize. Din’s smirk returned, faint and fleeting, as she considered his final words. Truly beautiful. A rare sentiment, spoken by a rare man.
She raised her glass in a silent toast to the empty room before taking another sip, the shadows of the past stirring faintly at the edges of her mind.
He received her own good wishes, surprised to hear her wish well on him and his order and with a final nod, he turns and leaves the room, his light blue eyes stealing a final glimpse of her silhouetted in the room. The image is picturesque in its dangerous beauty. Even as he walked down the stairs, he maintained his composure, his steps even and calculated, his jaw clenched as his mind raced over the conversation just held. The cult, the name of the individual that may draw more answers, and of the curious half owner of the Dryad and Drow.
As he reaches the final step and enters the main area of the bar, heads begin turning and observing the paladin once more. Sir Winterbourne, lost in his own thoughts, continues to cut through the room, unbothered by them. It wasn’t until the booming voice of the Goliath did his awareness come back.
“By the gods you survived her!” Avy’s jaw was practically on the floor “have a free second glass of wine on me mate, you’ve no idea what a feat you just pulled off!”
For the first time that evening Sir Winterbourne smiled, chuckling under his breath as he returned to the bar and graciously accepted.
Avy’s booming laughter echoed through the tavern, drawing even more attention to Sir Winterbourne as he approached the bar. The Goliath’s sheer exuberance was infectious, and even a few patrons raised their mugs in mock toast, as though honoring his triumph over some great foe.
“Well, come on then, Sir Paladin,” Avy teased, her broad grin as wide as her shoulders. “What’s your secret? A spell of warding? A charm of persuasion? Or did you just blind her with all that shiny metal you’re wearing?”
The paladin shook his head, his smile faint but genuine as he set his helm down on the bar once more.
“Nothing so mystical, I’m afraid,” he replied, his tone light with humor. “Though I suppose persistence and politeness can work wonders.”
“Politeness? Persistence? On Din? Both seem like exactly the thing not to do. But I’ll tell you this: Mistress Din doesn’t tolerate fools or cowards, so you must’ve done something right.”
She poured him another glass of the fine elven wine, sliding it across the counter with a practiced hand.
“Between you and me, mate, I’ve seen her chew through more silver-tongued suitors and blustering braggarts than I can count. If you left that room with all your parts intact, you’re already ahead of the game.”
Sir Winterbourne chuckled softly, taking a measured sip of the wine. Its sharpness and warmth cut through the lingering tension in his chest, grounding him.
“Your Mistress Din is… imposing.” he admitted, his voice quieter, almost introspective.
“Imposing?” Avy barked another laugh. “That’s one way to put it. I’d have gone with terrifying myself.” She leaned back, crossing her arms as she regarded him with an appraising look. “So, what now, Sir Shiny? You sticking around to tell us all about some heroic noble quest, or are you off to smite some evil before the night’s through?”
Winterbourne’s smile faded slightly, his thoughts once again turning to the weight of his task. “I have my duty to return to.” he replied simply, his tone once more measured and serious.
“Of course you do,” Avy said with a knowing nod. She raised her own mug in a playful salute. “Well, whatever it is, I hope you live long enough to come back and tell us the tale. Just don’t let Mistress Din hear me say that, or she’ll have my head for encouraging you to darken her doorstep again.”
The paladin allowed himself one last small smile as he finished his drink, placing the half- empty glass neatly on the bar.
“You have my thanks, Avy,” he said, giving her a polite nod. “For the drink, and the conversation.”
With that, he gathered his helm once more and made his way to the tavern’s exit. The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, the sounds of Baldur’s Gate bustling around him. Sir Winterbourne’s mind turned again to the Circle of Skulls, to the dangerous road ahead—and, unbidden, to the enigmatic Mistress Din, whose words lingered in his thoughts like a shadow he couldn’t quite escape.