"Of course, Sir." The owl-man bows his head respectfully, and pulls out a small parchment and a charcoal pencil. "I'll write you a letter of introduction, as well... my name might still have<em>some</em>pull with the guards, even if I am no longer a Keeper for the society."<br/><br/>He starts to write, his handwriting almost mechanically precise and perfect- the sign of long years as a scribe. A moment later, he rolls up the parchment and seals it shut, and holds it out to you.<br/><br/>"There you go, Master Vanel..." He says with a genial smile. "You give that to the guards, and tell them Keeper Brightmoon sent you... And if they don't let you in, you come back and see me, and I'll raise such a stink that they'll think Rovagug is at the gate."<br/><br/>With that, the old owl-man makes a kindly "shoo-shoo" motion, and swivels his head back around behind him to begin writing up his liquor orders...<br/><br/>------<br/><br/>The walk from the bar to the Pathfinder society is mostly easy- granted, the afternoon traffic of merchants and food-criers can hardly be called "easy" for anyone not used to the bustle of trade-towns- and twenty minutes later you're standing in front of... a marvel of normalcy. From a distance, you'd mistake the Pathfinder Society's  chapter house for a curio shop. Knick-knacks hang in the windows, and there're easily ten small maps plastered to the front door. And no guards to speak of, either... unless the old man was talking about the two giant frog statues standing at the base of the stairs.<br/><br/>Which, judging by the loud, grating croak that sounds beneath your feet as you near, he very well may have been.