⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

Helm’s Hold looms southeast of Neverwinter, a grim bastion of order and zeal amidst the northern wilds. Once a sanctuary for the sick and the mad, it now serves as the fortified seat of the Gilded Eye, a militant splinter of the Order of the Gauntlet. Its towering gray walls and austere towers offer no comfort—only vigilance. The Order’s knights and inquisitors prowl the streets and cloisters, eyes sharp for signs of infernal corruption, their fervor often straying into fanaticism. Within the compound, a rigid monastery hums with whispered prayers, disciplined drills, and the scent of burnt incense. Yet life persists under their shadow: a bustling marketplace operates under strict watch, and the Old Dirty Dwarf tavern offers hard drink and hushed rebellion to those brave—or desperate—enough to speak freely. Lodgings are sparse and Spartan, their walls thin but watched. Helm’s Hold offers refuge from chaos, but only for those willing to bow to the Eye’s unwavering, unblinking gaze.

Stern stone towers pierce the fog, wrapped in banners bearing Helm’s unblinking eye. Gray walls enclose a rigid grid of cloisters, barracks, and narrow streets patrolled by armored knights. Smoke from incense wafts through the air, mingling with market spice and forge heat. The Old Dirty Dwarf squats low near the gate—its crooked sign swaying as lanternlight flickers within. Every glance feels measured, every shadow watched.