Through Goblin's Gate
You sit at the bar of the Bright Blade Brandished sipping some sort of dark, sweet drink and wondering how on earth you’re going to get the 200 gold pieces you need to recover Barnabas. It’s a a comfortable tavern, but certainly welcoming to any clientelle able to pay. Men and women of a half-dozen outland nations grace the first floor, as well as a few of other races – a cunning-looking dwarf is leaning emphatically towards the cloaked figure across from him, sketching something on table with a finger, a group of gnomes have just walked out, and across the bar from you is an elf who has clearly seen better days, slumping lower and lower in his chair as he empties his glasses. “Helerin” you hear.