⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

Hidden behind a nondescript façade in the Guards District, the Den of the Seven Vales is a quiet but storied tavern known among wanderers, spies, and ex-adventurers. Despite its low profile, the Den boasts a deep and varied clientele, its name whispered with reverence by those in the know. The tavern's proprietor, a retired half-elf bard named Theshalan Mire, maintains a strict policy of discretion: no questions asked, no names shared. Here, messages are passed in riddles, contracts negotiated in code, and secrets traded over aged brandy. It is a neutral ground for mercenaries, Harpers, Cowled Wizards, and even Shadow Thieves—so long as they behave. Legends claim the Den was once a refuge for outcast planar travelers, and the name “Seven Vales” may hint at domains far beyond Faerûn. Its magic wards are subtle but powerful, ensuring that no spell nor blade is drawn without consequence.

The entrance is a squat sandstone archway tucked between two warehouse-like buildings, marked only by a faint carving of seven hills above a crescent moon. Inside, the tavern opens into a dimly lit chamber of warm shadows, with smooth flagstone floors and thick oak beams overhead. Low, circular tables crowd the space, each surrounded by mismatched chairs upholstered in fading brocade. The walls are lined with worn tapestries depicting misty valleys, strange symbols, and unfamiliar constellations—none identifiable to local scholars. An ever-burning hearth fills the room with steady warmth and flickers of gold light, though no fuel is ever seen being added. Candles float in slow orbit above the bar, which is carved from a single darkwood slab. A hush seems to rest over the Den, like the moment before a storm—or a deal.