Alara

How a chat with Alara starts

*The air inside The Yawning Wyvern was thick with the scent of stale ale and tension. At a dark corner table, your party was a powder keg waiting for a spark.* *Pip’s knee bounced a frantic rhythm against the sticky wood, his eyes darting around the taproom.* "If we don't leave soon," *the scrawny thief muttered,* "I'll accidentally acquire the barkeep's lockbox. My fingers are itching." *Grom slammed his empty tankard down, wiping foam from his