A Drink with the Open Lord at the Misty Beard Tavern
Aleina woke to the sound of Jhelnae's voice. The aasimar groaned as she sat up, finding her muscles stiff and sore, both from the hardness of her sleeping pallet and her exertions of the day and night before. A single glance around the dark space reminded her where she was.
In the dungeon of a Watch tower in Waterdeep.
It could be worse, she reflected. It could be a cell in Gracklstugh, in the Underdark, and she could have woken to Jhelnae waving around her abyssal sword and yelling about a succubus. Instead she was locked up in the City of Splendors, not that there was much splendor in their little holding cell, but at least the rushes strewn on the floor had been changed recently enough for the smell of sweet grass to somewhat mask the dankness. The scent gave a hint of the outdoors and freedom, which, when she thought about it, was actually kind of cruel to those imprisoned like herself.
"I think I heard them call it Beacon Tower," Jhelnae said, gaze far away.
"Are you talking to me?" Aleina asked her friend.
The half-drow held up her hand for silence, cocked her head as if listening, her expression intent, then smiled.
"By all that dances," she breathed. "I can't wait to see the expression on his face."
"Whose face?" the aasimar asked.
"The Watch Captain who locked us in here," her friend said. She lowered the tone of her voice in over-acted mimicry of a man's. "Oh, you know the Open Lord? Well then, you get the special accommodations."
The Captain had punctuated that statement with a gesture to the same cell door he'd already opened before they mentioned knowing the Open Lord. The very same cell they occupied now.
"I should have charmed the bastard," Jhelnae fumed.
"Laws against that," Aleina reminded. "And he probably wouldn't have been too happy when the spell wore off and he realized what you did."
"Yeah, well at least we might have had enough time for a bath and change of clothes at the Trollskull before we were thrown in here," the half-drow said.
She yanked at the neckline of a tunic so dirty and scorched it looked like she'd tomb delved, scrambled through a graveyard, been burned by a bolt of fire, then rolled across the ground, all while wearing it, which she had. The aasimar was aware her own clothes didn't look any better and both of them were disheveled and dirty as well.
"Where is Sir Ambrose?" Aleina asked. "He told us just to go along with the Watch until he could talk to a magistrate."
The Watch officers who had opened the nearest gate to the City of the Dead at dawn had been none too happy about finding one of the great graveyard's statues fallen - not even when all the crushed skeletons underneath the broken stone were pointed out. Although most of the complaining, the aasimar noticed, was about the reports they had to write rather than about the fallen statue itself. Then there had also been the issue of three bodies - the halfling necromancer and his two apprentices. Arrests had been made after Jhelnae confessed to hacking down the statue and both the half-drow and aasimar were responsible for some of the bodies. Sir Ambrose, known to Watch members and having only fought skeletons, had been free to go. His two prisoners, the two gravediggers, had gone with him.
"Someone better than a magistrate is coming to get us out," Jhelnae said, standing up from her sleeping pallet and stretching.
"Who?" Aleina asked, but guessed at the answer to her own question. "Laeral Silverhand?"
Her friend had been speaking to someone via a sending spell or similar when the aasimar woke. At the half-drow's nod Aleina threw back her rough spun blanket and also came to her feet. Together they watched the door to their cell expectantly as they tried to take the stiffness out of their muscles. The aasimar started to feel better and, in truth, had really needed the bout of sleep. She'd just have preferred it in her own bed.
They waited. Then waited more.
"For someone who can teleport she sure is taking her time," Jhelnae huffed, dropping back down on her pallet.
The aasimar joined her with a resigned sigh. Just then, booted footsteps approached from the corridor beyond the door to their cell. The pair groaned as they climbed back to their feet. Keys rattled and the door lock snicked, then a young faced member of the Watch poked his head in.
"Come with me," he said, sounding very nervous. "The Open Lord is waiting."
"What did I say when you locked us in here?" the half-drow gloated, as they left the cell. "That we knew the Open Lord. But did you believe me?"
"I don't think he was part of the group who escorted us in," Aleina said as they followed the Watch officer down the short corridor between holding cell doors.
The man shook his head.
"I wasn't," he said. "Just started my shift."
"Oh," Jhelnae said, sounding disappointed. "Well, make sure to let the previous shift know who came to get us. Especially that Captain."
The young Watch officer made no reply as he led them up the steps to the ground floor level. The Open Lord stood back lit by waning sunlight from the door to the outside framing her. Sunlight that was far more advanced into dusk than the aasimar expected. They'd been asleep longer than she thought.
Laeral Silverhand did not offer a smile in greeting, nor offer any greeting at all. She looked weary, distracted, and only seemed to be half-listening to the only slightly more seasoned Watch officer than the one who retrieved Aleina and Jhelnae.
"I think they didn't want to let them go free until a magistrate saw the fallen statue they broke," the young man said. "Then more skeletons were discovered in abandoned tombs and those had to be cleared out, and everyone just sort of forgot about these two."
"Statue they broke?" the Open Lord asked. "What statue did they break? I've heard about the skeletons, the discovery of more skeletons in other tombs, but nothing about a statue."
"One of the statues fell in the fighting last night," the officer wearing the very new looking green-and-goldenrod doublet uniform said.
"Which statue?" Laeral asked.
"Well, I don't know the name of it," the young man said. "The big winged one at the plaza where many of the walkways meet up?"
"The one Ahghairon commissioned as a tribute to Mystra?" the Open Lord asked. "The one of Lumalia, her deva messenger?"
The aasimar and half-drow exchanged a worried look. Laeral Silverhand was the daughter of Mystra, the goddess of magic.
"I don't know the name of it," the officer repeated. "Would that be the very old one?"
"Very old," the silver-haired woman said. "Founding of the city old."
"Then that is probably the one," the young man said brightly, seemingly happy to be able to answer the Open Lord's question.
Laeral closed her eyes and her fingers went to her temples, massaging.
"I just recently allocated funds from the treasury to strengthen it and keep it standing," she cursed.
Aleina and Jhelnae's shared worried look became a wincing cringe and they blanched when the silver-haired woman opened her eyes and gave them a look with the beginnings of silver fire glow in her green irises. Then she visibly calmed herself and took a sighing breath.
"It's fine, it's fine, we'll rebuild it," she muttered. "Not like I don't have anything better to do then find funds to do that. And you're right, there are more pressing matters."
Glances were traded between the two young officers, the aasimar, and the half-drow at the last part. It sounded like the Open Lord was talking to a voice in her head. Talking to oneself, quite common. To an internal voice? Concerning.
"You two look like you could use a drink, yeah?" the silver-haired woman asked Aleina and Jhelnae.
After a hesitation, they nodded.
"Good," Laeral said. "Because I need one as well. You're buying since, well, you owe me a statue."
"I don't know if you noticed," the aasimar said, gesturing at herself. "But we kind of need to change our clothes."
The Open Lord gave a mysterious smile.
"Don't worry," she said. "In the place I have in mind, no one will notice."
She exited out of the Watch tower. For some reason the aasimar gave the two young officers apologetic shrugs as she and her friend scrambled to catch up to the Open Lord.
"Let's see, Zenduth to Saerdoun is faster," the silver-haired woman mumbled. "But Cliffwatch, of course, has that amazing view."
Aleina opened her mouth to answer, but noting the woman spoke under her breath and did not look at her, was unsure if the question was directed to her.
"Yes, I quite agree," Laeral said. "One does need to take the little pleasures along the way. Cliffwatch then."
This apparently decided, she strode down the cobblestones of Zendulth Street, moving quickly. Around them, amazed Waterdhavians gawked. The sight of their Open Lord strolling among them, trailed by a bedraggled aasimar and drow, was probably very unexpected. Despite her comment about taking in the 'little pleasures' Laeral barely spared a glance at the vista to the east of the Cliffwatch and her pace was so fast the trio wove among the more leisurely walkers of the affluent North Ward out for some pre-dinner exercise. The Cliffwatch walkway was soon behind them and they headed north on Saerdoun Street.
They approached a four-story stone building with large arched windows and downspouts carved to resemble winged maidens. The sign hanging above the main entrance depicted a laughing bearded sailor with thick beads of water glistening like a rainbow throughout his beard - the effect of enchanted bits of crystal. The lettering at the bottom of the sign read 'The Misty Beard Tavern'.
The aasimar had noticed the building before, it being only around half a dozen blocks from the Trollskull, and been curious. It seemed that curiosity would now be satisfied as the Open Lord went to the door of the place and opened it. The interior was lit by sunlight from the large arched windows of the building - though this now faded in the dusk of a departing day - and hanging lanterns. All the floors opened to a large central well with various stairs curving and zigzagging to the upper levels. Small, winged, fairy waiters buzzed to and from the bar carrying glasses, full on the way out and empty on the way back. The furniture was all mismatched and well worn, but in a very cozy and welcoming way and the place was immaculately clean without a cobweb in sight.
Laeral led them to a private little nook with three chairs around a small table.
"I haven't been here in over a hundred years," she sighed as she sank into her chair. "Good to see some things endure."
Aleina and Jhelnae continued to silently gape around them as they sat. The waitstaff weren't the only strange denizens in here. Among the human, dwarf, elf, and halfling clientele were a smattering mix of other races. At a glance the aasimar saw a tiefling, some kenku, goblins, and kobolds. A water tank had even been built around one table where a couple of aquatic patrons, tritons she thought they were called, sipped at long stemmed wine glasses with their lower halves submerged. A centaur spoke and gesticulated on the small stage in the far corner of the tavern. The distance was too great to hear what he said, but a table of satyrs laughed raucously nearby him and beat their table tops with slaps, clearly enjoying themselves.
"Is that a beholder?" Jhelnae asked with a raised eyebrow stare at the bar.
There was a spherical creature floating there facing those at the bar, but it was smaller than the stuffed one they'd seen in the window display of Old Xoblob's Shop. This one also only had four eyestalks rather than ten.
"It's a spectator," the silver-haired woman said, shaking her head. "A beholderkin. If it is the same one from a hundred years ago then his name is Thoim Zalamm and he is quite the philosopher. If you want to discuss existential questions, plop down on a barstool some night and you will get your fill."
One of the fairy waitstaff flew up to take their order, wings humming.
"What will it be hons," he said in a high, squeaky voice.
"I can't believe this place has pixie waiters," the half-drow said, voice amazed.
"Pixie!" the tiny fey said, blue eyes narrowing. "Pixie! Do you see trails of glowing dust showering the place when we flit about?"
"He's a sprite not a pixie," Laeral said, smiling.
"Sorry," Jhelnae said, giving a conciliatory gesture. "I can't believe this place has sprite waiters. Better?"
The sprite regarded her with a pursed lipped stare, then nodded.
"I might have overreacted," he said. "Dated a pixie once. Still not over her. First time in the Beard?"
"For them, not for me," the Open Lord said. "But it has been quite some time."
"Just to get the common questions out of the way," the tiny fey squeaked. "Yes, we have sprite waiters, a lizard folk bartender, a spectator philosopher, a fairie dragon baker, and a minotaur chef."
"Lizard folk bartender?" Laeral said, glancing in the direction of the bar. "How is Munzrim still alive after all these years? He is looking well for being the better part of over a century in age."
"That isn't Munzrim," the sprite said. "That would be Munzraa, his granddaughter."
The silver-haired woman flushed slightly.
"Oh, she is female," she said. "I see that now of course."
"Of course you do," their fey waiter said, sounding doubtful and with a little roll of his eyes. "Are you ready to order, or shall I buzz back later?"
"What is the house special of the night?" the Open Lord asked, recovering her equanimity.
"Braised oxtail," the sprite said.
"Oxtail?" Aleina asked. "Didn't you say your chef was a minotaur?"
"And?" the tiny fey asked.
"And… nevermind," the aasimar said with a shrug.
"Are you still famous for your garlic butter and gooseberry jam?" Laeral asked.
After their waiter nodded she continued.
"Then bread, that, and three glasses of Saerloonian Glowfire if you have it."
"We have it," the sprite said, darting away on humming wings.
A moment of silence stretched with the departure of their waiter. Aleina started to feel very uncomfortable and was tempted to blurt out an apology for the fallen statue. But the Open Lord spoke first.
"You're right, you're right," she mumbled. "Best to just tell them. We could have just teleported to the Palace, but I brought them here. Probably trying to delay the inevitable."
The aasimar and half-drow shared a worried look. The silver-haired woman was doing it again - talking as if she spoke to a voice in her head rather than just to herself.
"I'm going to show you something," Laeral said. "And I want you both to remain calm and not jump to any conclusions."
Remain calm? Was that the woman's idea of a sick joke? Panic was already settling in Aleina's chest from that statement alone, as if all the sprites in the place fluttered in there.
The Open Lord pulled something out of her pocket and set it on the middle of the table. It was the hilt of a sword - Dawnbringer! But if Laeral had the magic sword of light…
"No," the aasimar murmured. "No, no, no, no, no. What happened? Is he alright?"
"What did I tell you about not jumping to conclusions?" the silver-haired woman said. "He is not alright and he needs you now. Which means you need to stay calm and listen."
The hint of steel in her voice conveyed over seven hundred years of experience and wisdom and Aleina forced down her rising panic and took a calming breath. She took another, composed herself, made herself to meet the older woman's green eyed gaze, and nod. The Open Lord looked to both the aasimar and half-drow and gave them a nod in return.
"Good," she said. "I'm glad to see Dawnbringer was right about both of you being strong enough to handle this news. You'll want to help your friends and the city needs all the help it can get right now, so we can help each other. Which is why I contacted you. Didn't expect to find you in a Watch tower holding cell, but…"
She paused as the sound of buzzing wings announced the return of their waiter. He set a glass of white wine down next to Laeral that glowed with a slight luminescence then launched himself back in the direction of the bar.
"I should start at the beginning," the silver-haired woman said. "This morning, when I entered my locked office, this waited on my desk."
She pulled out a scroll tube with the wax seal broken to show it had previously been opened and placed it next to Dawnbringer.
"The impression on the seal was from my official signet ring," the Open Lord said, with a wiggle of the finger wearing the ring. "So, it was like I had left the scroll for myself. Cute, right?"
The sprite arrived with their second glass. Aleina gave an acknowledging nod in thanks and for some reason clutched at the long stem of the glass. Worry gnawed at the aasimar about Kuhl and Sky, muddling her thoughts.
"I'm not following," she said. "Someone left a scroll in your office sealed with an impression of your ring."
"You are following," Laeral said. "Someone broke into my office, in the palace, and they possessed a passable forgery of my signet ring, and left me that scroll tube. It's my working office, I don't put up any wards or anything like that, but I do work late erratic hours. I think someone wanted to show me their extreme competence to give weight to what was written. It worked. I was very impressed."
The final glass of luminescent wine was delivered by their winged waiter, this time to the half-drow. Now that they all possessed a drink, the silver-haired woman took a sip and the two others at the table followed her lead. It was neither too sweet nor dry and tasted of pears, but the aasimar was not inclined to savor its flavor with Dawnbringer sitting on the table and Kuhl and Sky in some sort of trouble.
"I first suspected Jarlaxle," the Open Lord continued. "It seemed to match his style and the writing was also in Elvish. But I compared the handwriting with his earlier scroll from the Blue Alley and they were different. He could change his style, of course, but he seems like an individual who would want you to know his cleverness when he displayed it."
"Also," Jhelnae said. "He was with us last night."
Laeral's eyes widened in surprise.
"Jarlaxle… was… with you two?" she asked. "Last night?"
"At the graveyard!" the half-drow clarified quickly. "He was at the graveyard. In some ridiculous, stupid, all too obvious disguise. JB Neversomething. It isn't important."
"I see," the silver-haired woman said with a slight smile and a shrug. "Well, further proof it wasn't Jarlaxle. At any rate, the contents of the scroll claimed Meloon Wardragon and other members of Force Grey were hosts to intellect devourers."
Probably because of the confused looks being directed towards her, she explained further after another sip of her wine.
"Canine beasts that look like walking brains," she said. "They consume the mind of those they attack and then occupy the body."
"I think Kuhl killed one of those things down in the sewer," Aleina said.
This drew all three gazes at the table to the sword hilt on the table. All filled the moment of silence with sips from their glasses.
"Despite attempted proof of authenticity by a showing of extreme competence by whoever left me the scroll, I suspected a trap," the Open Lord said. "Force Grey are essentially agents of the Blackstaff, so I investigated the claim with Vajra Safahr and we found them to be true. The creatures that were Meloon and his companions have been captured. Dawnbringer and a pair of magical boots of speed were in their possession and she told me the story of how that had happened."
Laeral relayed the events leading to the capture and delivery of Kuhl and Sky to the Xanathar Guild and to the mind flayer as told to her by Dawnbringer. While she talked, the bread, garlic butter, and gooseberry jam arrived, though none of them touched the food. Despite her worry, the aasimar felt her anger rising.
"They went into Undermountain?" she said, throwing up her hands and almost knocking over her half empty wine glass. "No preparation. No waiting to find us. Just got asked and down they went. If the same person had assured them they had a feather fall spell, would they have just jumped off Cliffwatch? I'm going to kill him!"
"Him?" Jhelnae said. "This has Sky all over it. You know Kuhl can't say no to her when she gives him her pleading cat eyes look."
"I'm going to kill both of them," the aasimar amended. "But apparently we have to rescue them from this mind flayer first."
She pushed aside the fears of what the mind flayer might have already done to her two friends. Some part of her mind frantically prayed to Selune they were alright, while the greater part focused on what she consciously needed to do to rescue them.
"From what I understand from Dawnbringer," the Open Lord said. "They thought the luck of Tymora shone on them and that, with Meloon's help, they'd be able to rescue this Sophiya they'd been hired to find from Undermountain and you both would be none the wiser."
"That makes it worse," Aleina said. "Not better."
"Fair enough," the silver-haired woman said, and gave a little toast with her wine glass. "Regardless, you want to rescue your friends and I want that mind flayer's head mounted on a spike above the gates to Castle Waterdeep. As I said, we can help each other."
"Why do you need our help?" Jhelnae asked. "Your Laeral Silverhand, Chosen and Daughter of Mystra."
"By which you mean why don't I just go down into the Xanathar's lair with all the troops the city can muster and treat them to a helping of swords and spells," Laeral said with a tired sigh. She looked tired at that moment, very unlike the woman wreathed in silver fire they'd met in the Blue Alley. "It is a good question and my array of answers are poor, paltry, and sound like excuses, even to me."
She fortified herself by draining her wine glass before giving her reasons.
"One," she said. "Waterdeep, despite how nebulous the system may seem to those outside its politics, is a free city. Or that is the intention anyway with the Masked Lords representing a broad base of the interests of the populace - noble, merchant, and craft guild master. Yet there is one anomaly in the hierarchy at the supposed top of it - a, as you say, Chosen and Daughter of a goddess. Can you imagine how the free citizenry of Waterdeep would react to their Open Lord invading and going on a spell rampage in the lair of the largest crime organization of the city?"
"That they were really lucky to have you to deal with these kinds of threats," the half-drow said, voice confused.
But the aasimar, having been raised in a patriar family, saw the problem. Her family, no longer wealthy, wielded little power in Baldur's Gate. But they guarded the power and privilege that remained to them with intense jealousy and paranoia.
"Many would praise her," Aleina said. "At first. But then the whispers would start. If she can do that to them, what keeps her from coming for us?"
The Open Lord nodded.
"These sorts of whispers already exist and I haven't even done anything of the sort," she said. "I was elected as Open Lord when the city feared Tiamat would be summoned to this plane."
The silver-haired woman paused to give a scornful laugh.
"Little good I'd have been able to do if the Dragon Goddess had showed up at the gates of the city. But now many fear they made a mistake. Fear they bought themselves the tyrannical rule of an immortal queen in trade for a bit of unsure security against a threat that has already long since passed. Not that I care if I am ousted. I never wanted to be the Open Lord. Long for the day my tenure ends. But while I do have the position, I am determined to do it well. So, I have tried to use my arcane powers judiciously to quell these sorts of fears."
She fingered her wine glass, staring into its empty depths and heaved a sigh. Breaking off a chunk of bread, she buttered it and took a bite. The aasimar and half-drow watched Laeral chew and waited.
"That first reason wouldn't stop me by itself," the silver-haired woman said. "A mind flayer using Waterdhavians as hosts for intellect devourers? I will not let that pass. I killed one not long after becoming the Open Lord for feeding on citizens and I would invade the lair of the Xanathar and burn this mind flayer to ash for what he has done, damn any consequences. But it is clear with Meloon and the others of Force Grey being hosts for intellect devourers that these creatures must all be rooted out at once, master and servants dealt with all at the same time, like pulling a weed and making sure you got all the roots. It takes strong magic to find intellect devourers and even stronger, costly magic to restore those who have become hosts. My vow and plan is to restore as many as I can. So, I have to be up here, in the city, and thus need to send representatives to kill the mind flayer for me. That is reason two."
She paused for a moment, taking a breath, but it was clear from her sitting posture she wasn't done speaking. Aleina found herself looking at the Open Lord, really looking at her. Since she'd met her, the aasimar always suspected the guise of a still youthful woman was a mask - the smooth skin, the high cheekbones, even the little beauty mark below her left eye and the flowing silver hair - all a deception to make this over seven hundred year old woman feel relatable and pleasantly human. But at this moment, with her green eyes downcast at the table as she contemplated her next words, she looked all too human - very fragile and very vulnerable. It just might be that this was the real Laeral Silverhand and the woman the aasimar had first seen wreathed in an aura of silvery flame and power the mask.
"And then there is reason three," she continued. "Halaster Blackcloak. The Mad Mage. Who considers all of Undermountain as his demesne, which includes Skullport and thus the lair of the Xanathar. And Halaster is nothing if not territorial."
"How can he be territorial?" Jhelnae asked. "Adventurers go down into Undermountain all the time. And, as you say, it seems he allows the Xanathar to operate out of there."
"That is all by his invitation into his arena," the silver-haired woman said. "To play by his rules - none of which any of us really know, or he wouldn't be the Mad Mage. I myself have been to Skullport many times, even had an alias there and I visited my sister Qilue at her Promenade of the Dark Maiden with regularity. I mentioned killing a mind flayer earlier, that was done in Skullport where I lured the creature out and ambushed it. But there is a difference between the subtle use of power, where you might even be an unwitting bit of theater in the deranged design of the Mad Mage, and all filled with silver fire and righteousness at the head of troops. If I were to go on a warpath and rage through what he might consider one of his set pieces, he would probably consider it a challenge by a rival spellcaster to his domain. An invasion. That would certainly elicit a very territorial response. I might survive the onslaught, those I brought with me, probably not. At any rate, those are my three reasons, though I admit, they sound more like excuses when voiced. I'm probably overthinking it. It is my curse in my long life to over think the simple and underthink the nuanced."
Aleina very much doubted that and said as much.
"I doubt that, very much. Everything you said makes sense and does not sound like an excuse. But why us? Surely you have more competent representatives to kill this mind flayer."
"Partly because you have incentive," the Open Lord said. "The rescue of your friends. Partly because I will need my other representatives to help me find the infiltrating intellect devourers, capturing them, and restoring the minds of their hosts. The net we have to cast needs to be wide, because once word gets out we are searching, they'll all try to go to ground and hide where we can't find them. And partly some instinct that I can't fully explain myself."
"Kill the mind flayer," Jhelnae said. "Save our friends. We'll do it. But we're going to need help. We wouldn't even know where to start looking for this mind flayer."
"Leave the getting there to me," Laeral said. "As for killing it and making it back to the surface, you're right, you'll need help. Gather what forces you can and I will supplement them as I am able. But as for the killing of mind flayers there is a race, other than the gith, with experience in fighting them. Trelasarra and any converted Eilistraeens who were born in the Underdark would have been perfect. But they are not in Waterdeep at the moment, though there are other drow who meet this criteria."
"Born in the Underdark?" the half-drow asked, then groaned. "By all that dances. You can't be serious?"
"Serious?" Aleina asked. "Serious about what?"
She was missing something.
"Jarlaxle," Jhelnae said, sighing and shaking her head. "Lady Silverhand is suggesting we ask Jarlaxle to help us."
For once I *have* read through this and this isn't a rush to post because I need to force myself to stop thinking about it. I have seen on forums discussions on why the Forgotten Realms is a terrible DnD setting. One of the primary reasons given is the existence of characters like Laeral Silverhand. The argument goes something like, "Why would there be any reason for the player characters to do anything when someone like her could handle it?"
Personally I always felt like a role for a character like her is a quest giver and the DM can always be creative to explain why she can't do something herself. But now that I've had to devote over 5,000 words with her explaining why she can't do something herself and needs the 'PCs' to do it, I'll admit there is a point to the argument.
Also...I do know that having the characters interacting with Laeral Silverhand directly is not the way the campaign is supposed to work and makes the characters very Mary Sueish. The designers of Dragonheist set it up so there are middle men. You don't chat with Laeral, your intermediary is Jalaster. You don't talk with Jeryth Phaulkon, you talk with Mellanor Fellbranch. The Chosen of goddesses are meant to be kept at a distance. Yet I just couldn't resist having some fun with the supernatural beings of the city (very fan fiction writer of me).
Oh, the Misty Beard tavern is canon. 2e canon (not in Dragonheist), but it was nearby the holding tower where I put Aleina and Jhelnae and I thought, "Why not..."