Driftmar is a city of contrasts, a place where the mundane and the extraordinary coexist in a delicate balance. The bustling heart of the merchant city is alive with activity, a cacophony of sounds and sights that draw people from all corners of Eldoria and beyond. Traders haggle over exotic goods—silks from distant lands, spices that tingle on the tongue, and jewels that sparkle like captured starlight. Ships, with their creaking hulls and billowing sails, dock in the crowded port, their crews eager to offload their cargo and spend their hard-earned coin in the city’s many taverns.

The harbor is a sight to behold, sprawling out in a wide arc cradled by the city like two protective arms. Its waters, deep and treacherous in places, are calmed by a massive breakwater that stretches across the mouth of the crescent-shaped bay. This stone barrier, weathered by countless storms, shields the ships anchored within from the worst of the ocean’s fury. At the farthest edges of the bay, on the outermost points, stand two lighthouses, their twin beacons casting long fingers of light across the water, guiding vessels safely into the harbor. As dusk falls, the bay comes alive with the glow of lanterns, reflecting off the surface of the water like a thousand dancing stars.
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Running through the heart of Driftmar and flowing into the sea from the east is the Sylrune River. Barges laden with goods glide along its waters, making the river a crucial trade route that connects Driftmar to inland towns and regions. The riverbanks are lined with warehouses, bustling docks, and smaller markets that cater to traders who prefer to bypass the busy harbor. The Sylrune enters the city through a gated opening in the tall city wall, above which stands a guard tower, ever vigilant over the flow of commerce coming in and out of the city.

Tonight, the harbor and river docks are particularly busy. Ships from distant lands have docked, their decks laden with goods from across the seas. Among the usual crates of spices, silks, and exotic wares, one shipment stands out—a very large, heavy, long, and narrow crate that has drawn the attention of more than a few curious onlookers. Its contents remain a mystery, but its arrival has already sparked whispers among the dockworkers and merchants.

The merchants of Driftmar, ever vigilant over their wares, keep a close eye on the unloading process, while the city guard patrols the docks and marketplace, ensuring the safety of both the goods and the people. The guards, clad in armor emblazoned with the city’s lighthouse and seagull crest, walk their rounds with practiced ease, their presence a constant reminder of the law in a city where wealth and trade are king.

At the center of Driftmar, rising above the city like a sentinel, stands the castle of Lord and Lady Duskwood. The white marble castle is a grand structure, its towers piercing the sky, visible from almost every corner of the city. The Duskwoods are a charismatic couple, their influence reaching far beyond the castle walls. They are well-liked by the citizens of Driftmar, who speak of them with respect and admiration. Under their rule, the city has flourished, its markets bustling and its streets relatively safe. Yet, there is an air of mystery about them, a sense that not everything is as it seems within the castle’s stone walls.

But Driftmar is not just a city of commerce and nobility; it is a city of secrets. Tucked away down a narrow alley in a quiet, old part of the city stands a shabby, unassuming building that conceals Night Raven Press—the secret headquarters of the Night Ravens Thieves Guild. From the outside, it's easy to overlook, just another aging structure among the countless others in this ancient city. But for those who know where to look, the building is far more than it seems. Within its worn walls, beneath the faded sign that reads Publishing House, weathered by the salty breeze, lies the heart of a network that has quietly shaped the fate of Driftmar for years.

Inside, the atmosphere is warm and inviting, the air filled with the scent of ink and parchment. The open floor plan centers around a very large printing press, the heart of the operation, where the rhythm of the press is a constant, steady pulse. Around the room, there is the organized chaos of writers and artisans at work—scribes bent over manuscripts, artists crafting intricate illustrations, and editors poring over drafts.

Yet, beneath this surface of bustling creativity lies a network of secret passages, known only to the guild. One such passage leads to a hidden guild hall, a vast, shadowed chamber where the Night Ravens gather to hold meetings and plan their next moves.

Not far from the press, tucked into a corner of the city, lies the Roven's Roost Tavern. This tavern, operated by Orin Rovenshield, a retired adventurer with a sharp mind and a wealth of knowledge, is more than just a place to drink and be merry. It is a safehouse for the Night Ravens, a place where plans are made and secrets are shared within hidden chambers. The tavern’s walls are lined with mementos of Orin’s adventuring days, the most prominent of which is a shield emblazoned with a raven crest—the very symbol of the guild. The shield hangs above the bar, a silent reminder to those who know of the tavern’s true purpose.

Orin himself is a man of few words but many stories. He spends his days tending the bar, his sharp eyes and ears picking up on every rumor and piece of gossip that passes through his tavern. For those who know how to ask, Orin is a wellspring of information about the goings-on in Driftmar and the inner workings of the Night Ravens. Beneath his gruff exterior lies a man deeply loyal to the guild and to the city he calls home.

Yet, beneath this seemingly thriving city, there is a current of tension that runs deep, like a river of cold fear beneath the surface. That tension has only grown in recent weeks with the occurrence of three murders—each more chilling than the last. The most recent victim was a young woman, the daughter of a well-known merchant. Her body, like the others, was found with no obvious signs of violence, yet her face was frozen in a mask of sheer terror. It was as though the life had been drained from her, leaving only an empty shell behind.

“Not a mark on 'er,” whispered one merchant to another in the marketplace, her voice low and trembling. “Poor lit'l lass looked like… like she’d seen som'fin from beyond. som'fin that took more than just 'er life.”

“They say it’s a curse,” another voice chimed in, this one a shopkeeper leaning on his broom, eyes darting nervously as though expecting to see a specter himself. “The city’s cursed, and we’re next.”

Whispers of something darker, something unnatural, have begun to circulate through the crowds. But the citizens of Driftmar, for all their unease, do their best to maintain a facade of normalcy. After all, the markets must remain open, the ships must keep sailing, and life—at least on the surface—must go on.

But the Night Ravens know better. The city’s authorities, those who should be delving into the mystery, seem strangely reluctant to do so. Their investigations are shallow, their interest in finding the truth almost nonexistent. It is as if they are afraid of what they might uncover, or worse, that they already know and wish to keep it buried.

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