The Chasm’s Maw

The Chasm’s Maw, or simply “The Maw” as it was called by those who frequented it, was one of the more popular inns in Neverwinter, being in just the right location and just the right price range to keep the richest and the poorest out. This was an important feature, so much so that when the wealthy people of Neverwinter felt it time to try and make The Chasm’s Maw suitable for their higher class patronage, the owners and serving staff endeavoured to make it much less comfortable for them. The quality of the offerings dropped, the bawdy behaviour increased, and the bards they hired for evening entertainment…it was best to not go into great detail about the audible horrors they inflicted on their audience, but they could have made rocks bleed. The regular patrons put up with and even encouraged such changes, knowing that they were temporary and for a cause that suited their long-term purpose; generally speaking, it was the everyman’s tavern, clean and calm and largely safe, with decent food and drink for fair coin.

Westra Hornraven scanned the inn’s common room, looking for the man matching the description she’d been given – tall, human, late forties, dark hair greying at the temples, well-built – and sighed in mild annoyance. Neverwinter’s Illuskan heritage meant that description applied to half the human men in this crowded hall. But, she’d heard it from more than one person that he would be here this evening, so here she stood. She glanced down at her travelling clothes, worn and comfortable, but still of high quality. Not the outfit she’d normally have chosen for such an evening, but she’d been warned of The Maw’s attitude towards the aristocracy.

“Can I help you, miss?” a slender serving girl asked, pausing on her way back to the kitchen with an armload of dirty plates and tankards.

“I’m looking for a man,” Westra replied.

“Aren’t we all?” The girl grinned. “I’ll just dump these, and you can let me know what kind of a man you’re looking for.” She walked away, curls of red-gold hair bouncing, and Westra continued to examine the patrons of The Maw. A foppish bard in a feathered cap perched with his lute in one corner, strumming and plucking an upbeat but gentle melody; a merchant and his wife, dressed well and with large soft bellies that indicated their ability to eat well and often; a table of three middle-aged men, any of whom could be the man she sought, laughing over their ale.

A grizzled dwarf with a wildly unkempt black beard rose from his seat near the back of the hall and shouted towards the front of the room. “Oi! Sildar!” The man standing at the bar turned towards the caller. “Make it two for me, while you’re up!” Sildar held up his hand in acknowledgement and turned back to request another two ales from the barmaid. Westra smiled, having found her target. She straightened her overdress and smoothed her hair, and walked towards the man at the bar.

“Pardon me,” she said, gently touching his arm to get his attention. “Are you Sildar Hallwinter?”

The man turned to look and stood up straight. “That I am,” he said, his voice deep and calm. Somehow, in the three descriptions of this man that she’d gathered, not one of them had included his unusual eyes. Pale grey, trimmed with a dark outer ring – almost like the reflection of the sun on steel. He extended a hand to her. “I don’t believe we’ve met, miss?”

“Hornraven,” she said, accepting his hand with a firm grip. “Westra Hornraven.”

His brow furrowed in thought. “Hornraven…you wouldn’t happen to be a member of the Corlinn Hill Hornraven family, would you?”

She smiled. “So you’ve heard of us.” 

“Yes. I assisted with the evacuation of Corlinn Hill when Mount Hotenow erupted,” he said. His brow furrowed. “Of course, that would mean that I’ve just addressed you incorrectly.” He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you, Lady Hornraven?”

“Please, just Westra will suffice. I understand that you’ve shown some interest in Phandalin.” She smiled. “I too have an interest in that town.”

  The barkeep placed three tankards on the bar, and looked expectantly at Westra. “Wine, please, and it would be my great pleasure to pay for the gentleman’s drinks as well.” As Sildar began to protest, Westra held up a finger as she placed a few silver coins on the bar top. “You’ve just told me you helped save my family from destruction. The least I can do is buy you and your friend back there a drink.”

Sildar smiled and nodded his head in a slight bow. “It seems you will not be argued with, so the most gracious course is for me to accept, thank you for your generosity, and invite you back to my table…where you can meet my companion and tell us more about your interest in Phandalin.” 

The barmaid returned with Westra’s wine, and Sildar led her back to where the dwarf sat, impatiently waiting.

“I asked ye to get me a drink, not get yerself a date, Hallwinter,” the dwarf grumbled, reaching out for his tankards of ale.

“Gundren Rockseeker, this is Lady Westra Hornraven. You can thank her for these drinks,” Sildar said as he sat across from the dwarf. He gestured to the empty seat beside him, and Westra followed his cue.

The dwarf eyed her appraisingly. “I’m not one to turn away a free drink,” he said, draining the first mug of ale. “And what, pray tell, gives you cause to ply our favour with ale?”

“Lady Hornraven has an interest in Phandalin,” Sildar said, giving the dwarf a meaningful look. 

“Oh aye?” Gundren said, raising a bushy eyebrow. “And what interest would that be?”

“Well, my first interest is primarily in reaching the town,” she replied, sipping her wine. “I overheard that you might be headed in that direction.”

“Yes. We plan to leave tomorrow at first light.” Sildar replied.

Westra frowned. “I have some business here in Neverwinter that must be attended to before I leave,” she said, absently swirling the wine in her cup. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to delay your journey?”

“Nay,” Gundren said, draining his second mug of ale. “Ye couldn’t.”

“Well then,” Westra said. “I suppose that’s the matter concluded.” 

“Was it an armed escort you were after?” Sildar asked. “I’m curious to know how my name came to be the one you sought. Phandalin can be a lawless place, but there are many able-bodied folks for hire.”

She looked at him, attempting to determine any ill intent behind his steel-coloured eyes. He merely looked back and waited, grey steel staring into cobalt blue. Gundren looked back and forth between them. 

“It is the lawlessness of Phandalin that draws me there,” Westra answered carefully. “My understanding was that you had designs to…remedy that situation.” She finished her wine. “I sought you out to see if you would be willing to work together on that matter.”

“Well, lass, there’s a bit of a problem with that there plan o’ yours,” Gundren said softly. “Chiefly, that Sildar Hallwinter is currently in my employ, on my business.” 

The curly-haired serving girl was back. “I see you’ve found your fella then,” she said, winking at Westra. “Can I get anybody anything else this evening?”

Gundren looked at Westra expectantly. “Did yer generosity die with your travel plans?” 

“Gundren,” Sildar said reproachfully. 

“What? It’s only a question.”

“I don’t mind,” Westra said, pulling out more silver coins. “Another round for the table.” The girl nodded and bounced away. 

“Don’t think that you can change my mind, though,” Gundren said. “We leave tomorrow, and I’ll not be put off.” He narrowed his eyes. “Not to mention, I’m not after serving as a protector for an aspiring frontier politician.”

“Oh, I can handle myself in a scuffle,” Westra said with a half smile. 

“Can ye just?” the dwarf scoffed.

Her cobalt gaze settled on him. “Are you familiar with the bounty on that traveling band of goblins?” He nodded. “That bounty just paid for your drinks.”

“Four goblins, unassisted?” Sildar said, eyebrow cocked. “I’m impressed.”

“As am I,” Gundred said, “if it be true.”

Westra shrugged, her knowing smile still playing on her face. “Believe what you will. You’re clearly a dwarf with a head for business, and a shrewd businessman is correct to doubt the bold claims of a stranger who buys him drinks.” Sildar snorted into his mug and attempted to cover the laugh with a cough.

Gundren looked at her appraisingly. “If yer headed to Phandalin anyway, I may just have another opportunity for ya.” He began on his third mug of ale, but did not drain it this time. His eyes darted about the room, ensuring that they had sufficient ambient noise to not draw attention to the change in tone. “If ye can take a crew of goblins alone, I could have use of yer services.”

“So now you want to employ me, in addition to Sildar,” she said. “However, I do still have my own business to attend to first.”

“Aye, and that’s fine, this opportunity has a few days yet before it departs.” He took another drink. “The urgency of my business with Sildar means we have to get a move on, and we have to travel light. But we’re going to need provisions, more than we can carry with us.” He cleared his throat. “The wagon’s all arranged, and I happen to be looking for a few handy folks to drive it to Phandalin for me.”

“I see,” Westra said. “And have you recruited anyone else for this opportunity, or do I have the honor of being your first?”

Either the ale was beginning to take hold of the dwarf, or he had interpreted a different meaning in her last statement – his ruddy cheeks had flushed a deeper red. “In fact, I’ve mainly left the arrangements to a cousin o’mine, who’s on…ah…let’s call it on leave from the Mintarn mercenary corps.”

 “I wasn’t aware that the mercenaries operated on the basis of leaves.”

“Let’s just say it’s not strictly voluntary.”

“Ah. Say no more.” She finished her wine. “And does this opportunity of yours pay anything?”

Gundren winced. “I told Orsik – that’s my cousin – that I could pay 10 gold pieces to each person who participates in the safe and timely escort of my wagon to Barthen’s Provisions in Phandalin. But I also told him I couldn’ae pay more than 5 people,” he added quickly. “I’m not made of money.”

Westra tapped her fingernails on the wooden tabletop, thinking. She looked at Sildar. “And what is your role in this endeavour?”

“Chiefly, a bodyguard,” he replied. “But, as yourself pointed out, I have interests there myself. It’s a rather convenient partnership.”

“Hmm,” she said, still looking at Sildar.

“Are ye in or out, lass?” Gundren said. “If yer in, ye’ll need ta get to Orsik and tell him so before he fills the other 4 spots.” 

“How do I find this cousin? I assume he’s here, in Neverwinter?”

“Aye, he likes to frequent the docks and the taverns there,” Gundren replied, rolling his eyes. “He’s a bit…philosophical. Likes to ponder morality and motives or some such nonsense.”

“I take it you don’t share his passion for those types of discussions.”

Gundren shrugged. “He’s solid and he’s family. What more does there need to be?”

“If Sildar here agrees to meet with me in Phandalin once his business with you is concluded, then I accept.” She offered Sildar her hand, and after only the slightest hesitation, he gripped it firmly. 

“I’ll promise to a meeting,” Sildar said, “but nothing more until I get a clearer idea of your intentions.”

“Good,” she said, beaming.  

“Does that mean ye’ll not be takin’ my gold if the journey is successful?” Gundren asked hopefully.

“Oh no,” she grinned. “The gold represents the accord between you and me. The meeting is the accord between me and Sildar.” She finished her second cup of wine. “Besides, if I don’t accept your gold, how will I manage to keep buying drinks for the strange men I meet in taverns?”

“Aye, you’ve got a point there,” Gundren said, raising his mug to her.

Westra repeated the gesture, draining her wine. “Now,” she said. “Tell me more about Orsik.”