Secomber was a town of controversy. Was it of the Western Heartlands, a town of quiet, peaceful farmers and fishermen, a convenient stopover for caravans traveling towards Waterdeep and the deeper terrain of the Western Heartlands? Or was it of the North, a town filled with adventurers seeking fame and fortune, a layover for those seeking to scrawl their names in history as they explored the ruins within the High Moor or searched the darkened boughs of the High Forest. The region of origin has always been debated, but what can’t be debated was the hearty nature of those who chose to live within the town’s confines, or their welcoming nature to those adventurers who helped keep the town as peaceful as it was. The main street through town was wide, and kept clear of debris. The side streets could at times turn into narrow, meandering things, but for the most part the town looked like a common farming town, only grown big. With thatched and shingled roofs side by side, white picket fences with herb gardens and children running and playing in the streets. Colorful gardens lined the street, and the town square was broad, designed to accommodate large merchant trains while still providing easy set up for market day.<br/><br/>Ringing the square were a number of inns and taverns, all known for their hospitality and free flowing ale, but it was not to one of these welcoming establishments that our travelers were headed on this day. No, rather it was back one of the side streets, several blocks off the main road, to a quiet, sedate structure whose roof was shaded by a massive willow, that they turned their steps towards. Upon a sign outside its door was a painting of a nymph, prancing about with her dress swirling scandalously high. Thus the inn’s name, the Nimble Nymph.<br/><br/>Inside its painted red door, was a common bar room. Tables, a bar with an attractive female Halfling tending to the needs of her patrons. Though if the guests looked left and right upon entering, they would see twin humans whom obviously had some giant in their blood. Tall, blond and bearded, they stood seven feet tall and each had a large club tucked into his belt. They were Ivan and Ibran, twin Damaran’s who kept the peace with a firm hand. Around the bar floor was a waist high rail, beyond that were a number of alcoves, all holding a broad couch, and all boasting at least one beautiful woman upon it. Some were feeding grapes to a paying patron, some were giggling at his jokes, and other were idly laying and caressing one another. But one thing was clear, their attention was for sale.<br/><br/>It was into this quiet, temptation filled room that our adventurers stepped, the bouncers staring at them hard, the Halfling bartender looking up at them with a smile.<br/><br/>“Welcome to the Nimble Nymph, what’s yer pleasure?”<br/><br/>Each adventurer had the passcode, and would use it. Perhaps they sampled some wine, or famous Halfling mead, first, but invariably, they gave the passcode, and wound up headed to the second floor. Here, they were ushered through a door, into a room that felt silent as a grave. Those attuned to magic could feel the power of the wards crackling in the air, and everyone stepping on the floor could hear that their footsteps did not resonate as they should. A result of a foot of cork between the walls and floorboards, muffling sound and keeping the room as private as possible. A large oaken table lay in the center of the room, with wine, ale, and mead along with a spread of cheeses and meats. It was obviously intended that they wait there for whomever was coming to meet them.<br/>