The Ruins of Castle Moorfathom
The Grand Inquisitor
A silent routine of dwarven guards escorts you to a long hall within the first battlement. A heavy orange glow floods the ground before the hall’s stout iron doors. Several squadrons of heavily armored dwarves stand within around an even smaller figure: a gnome clad in velvet gray robes and a tasseled hat. His eyes are beady and his face is deeply wrinkled. Beside him, standing with the posture of a servant, is an elf, also in gray velvet…
ECHOR: It’s not poison. I assure you it’s quite harmless. [The knobby nosed gnome holds before his beady eye a vial filled with a viscous yellow substance]. We cannot be too careful these days, of war and subterfuge. You will drink it and answer my questions. If I like what you say you’ll have our help.