<div class="floatleft"><div align="center">(https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/D4IAAOSwA3dYdR7q/s-l300.jpg)<br/>Your #1 seller</div></div>The journey east from the Sword Coast has been a long one; At first you had been told you would be<em>teleported</em>straight to your destination of Eveningstar. Then, because of budget constraints, this was changed to "somewhere in Cormyr." You hadlast heard that the fellow who was going to perform the spell on your behalf was also the lowest bidder; one Nargobel Half-Finger, a "civilized" goblin wizard; also a famous drunk whose stunted little hands make his spells prone to misfiring. Fortunately for you, Nyssa Starfire had a better idea at the last minute!<br/><br/>Months ago, you joined up with a merchant caravan headed towards the Cormyrean city of Arabel. Along the way, from Baldur's Gate to Proskur, at every settlement, town, city, and watering hole along the way, from the Paladin-haunted fields of Elturgard to the homey troll covens in the Sunset Mountains, you four have been hawking licensed Acquisitions Incorporated merchandise and scattering promotional materials. There is not a halfling child in the Green Fields who does not have a "Bin it to Win it!" button, and the life-size Jim Darkmagic pillowcases all sold out at Fort Morninglord. You only stopped your traveling yard sale at Proskur because that's where you sold your very last item - a neti pot in the shape of Omin Drahn's head.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>That was a week and a half ago. You've since rounded the Storm Horns and descended into Cormyr proper, and finally,<em>finally</em>come to the idyllic town of Eveningstar. The merchants you're travelling with only plan to stay a day, but the four of you know you're going to have to be here much longer; being savvy sorts, you already know a tavern is a fine place to get started! After asking a few townsfolk, you've decided that the Lonesome Tankard Inn seems the most likely place to check out.<br/><br/><div class="floatright"><div align="center">(https://pre00.deviantart.net/0f1d/th/pre/i/2017/064/1/e/fred_by_lkivihall-db18y5r.jpg)<br/>Dunman Kiriag, proprietor</div></div>It's lunchtime, on market day, with a caravan in town, so the Lonesome Tankard is busy to a level you might not expect from a small town. managing the chaos is a large middle-aged fellow with silver-streaked red hair and beard in a faded green vest that seems to have given up on hiding his belly ages ago; Even though he's shouting over the din to the four servers - three young local women and lanky youth who shares the innkeeper's bright red hair - the innkeeper seems to be in a damn fine mood. The smell of hard cider and hearty stew even somehow manages to outweigh the fragrance of the thirty-odd people in here and the three dogs that are prowling the straw-strewn floor for crusts and spills. He even has time to lift his meaty hand as you enter.<strong>"Hoy! Welcome to the Lonesome Tankard!"</strong>