Westruun hums with life as evening settles in. Lanterns flicker above the bustling streets, their golden light dancing over the aged cobblestones. Laughter spills from tavern doors, blending with the rhythmic clatter of hooves and wagon wheels on the worn roads.

The Sunkissed Tavern and Inn is alive with its usual chaos. Rowdy gamblers huddle around a dice game, their voices rising with each roll. A cloaked tiefling mutters into her ale, fingers drumming on the wooden counter. The barmaid, Ulf, weaves between tables, balancing tankards on one arm while expertly dodging a drunk man. The air is thick with the scent of spiced mead, sweat, and old wood, warmed by the glow of hearthfire. At your table, you wait. They are late, very late.

Just as you consider leaving, the seat across from you is suddenly occupied. The figure is hunched, their hood heavy with rain, the scent of damp fabric and cold air clinging to them. Droplets trickle down their sleeves, pooling onto the table. His breathing is shallow, hurried. When he finally lifts their head, you catch the glint of wide, fearful eyes beneath the shadow of his hood.

Without a word, he shoves a parchment, sealed with dark blue wax. The sigil pressed into it is unmistakable, The Yuminor Observatory. "You're in danger," he whispers. "And not just you. This whole damn city."

Then, a sharp whistle. The tavern window shatters. Glass explodes inward, the shards catching the firelight like falling stars. A heartbeat later, a crossbow bolt punches through fabric and flesh. Your contact gasps, a strangled, wet sound. His fingers tremble as he clutch at the wound, a feeble, instinctive effort to hold onto life. The hooded man lips part, his voice weaker than before. "The Betrayer Gods..." A shallow, rattling breath. "Something stirs... The stars... We tried to…"

His body goes slack on the table, the letter, now smeared with blood, lies beneath him. The tavern erupts into chaos. You glance toward the shattered window, but there's no one... The killer is already gone.