On the Way to the Dragon's Lair:
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You hear the door close and latch (multiple times) behind you as you step out into Neverwinter's streets. The place has quieted down considerably since you were last outside, but a few late night revelers, homeless beggars and young carefree lovers walk the streets in a much more leisurely stroll. In the center of the market square, you see a night watchman lighting the city's lamps. The sky overhead is beautiful, with shimmering winter stars that pierce the darkness like transfixed fireflies. The large, nearly full moon overhead casts a soft reflection off the cobbled streets. And apart from the indecipherable murmuring of passersby, the only sound you hear is music thrumming through the walls of various taverns and dance halls.

(If you wish to interact with anyone in the market square, stop reading now. If you wish to carry on to the Dragon's Lair, keep reading.)

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The Dragon's Lair is fairly easy to find. Over it's door hangs an intricately designed wood etched drawing of a dragon
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which periodically spouts a small burst of flame from its mouth.

The building itself is an attraction, designed to look like a castle (though much smaller) with a massive dragon wrapped around it, greeting eager patrons... or daring them to enter (sorry... this one's goofy, but it gives the idea)
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When you get there, you see that the doors are already open, and the sound of heavy drums and seductive music greets you. Most of the crowd is transfixed on the stage where a beautiful unearthly woman dances what appears to be a wild and savage routine involving high leaps, crouching twirls and nearly impossible contortions of the body. Two male dancers in the background kick and spin to the rhythm, occasionally throwing something to the stage floor that sends a flash and a puff of smoke at each other's feet. The percussionists keep their heads down and wear long hoods as they bang on their large drums, and two flautists perform a sharp duet, which pierces the intermittent silence between drumbeats like a dagger through chain mail.

In the corners of the main room, young men and women sit at small, low tables surrounded by thickly cushioned chairs to talk, laugh and drink exotic beverages from large, fancy cups. Some are playing games with dice or cards, and one group of men cheer on two champions at an arm wrestling competition.

There is an upper floor as well. In the low light, you can't make out details, but you can see the reflection of light off of eyes that peer down onto the stage.

The two bartenders at the back of the main room frantically pour drinks for the clamoring patrons with barely a nod to the customer as money is exchanged. One is a tall, bald, tattooed man with a lean but muscular build and a heavy brow capped with thick eyebrows. The other appears to be a half-elf female with long, auburn hair twisted into multiple braids that are capped with sparkling gemstones. Her pierced face is set in a mask of concentration as she whips bottles around like jugglers' pins, shooting liquor or wine into glass after glass in a frenzied effort to contend with the demand.


Meanwhile, back at Oscar's room:
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"My father was one of the charter members of the guild, actually." Giselda beams with pride in her eyes.

Grim blushes a bit under his beard, but visibly relaxes some. "That was a long time ago. I haven't even set foot inside their halls in years." He takes another sip of his drink. "This is really good. Witches Brew, you called it?"