Planar
Festive
Comfortable prices
The Moth & Midsummer
the tavern where the revel never tires
Lanterns the color of ripe berries hang from woven vines and float an inch off the beams, casting warm, trembling light. Minstrels — human, fey, and things that look like both — trade songs with a chorus of unseen voices; laughter rolls like distant thunder. The air smells of warm honey and crushed mint and the faint, sweet afterglow of spells. Tables are a riot of mismatched wood and glass, each set with a small live moth that flutters contentedly in a crystal bowl; when you walk in, a dozen revelers raise their cups as if you were expected. Time here tastes soft: minutes stretch into dances, and faces look both newly met and deeply remembered.
A brass hoop from which a dozen fluttering moths of beaten copper hang; some wings are bent, the rest catch stray starlight. No words, only a ring of tiny mirrors at the rim that flash when someone approaches.
Brennock Thistlewhirl
Satyr
Manner
Quirk
Stats
Mothlight Cup
5 spWarm berry wine stirred with a sliver of candied moon-mint; drinking it makes you feel tenser memories soften and gives advantage on a single Performance or Persuasion check for the next hour as the revel's mood favors you.
Comfortable (5e lifestyle: about 2 gp a day)
Grella Thornstep · cook
A grizzled half-elf who seasons everything with stardust sugar and will glare at anyone who complains about portions.
Tipple · barmaid
A quick-footed sprite who tops up cups without warning and slips notes into pockets for a coin and a wink.
Master Orren of the Willow-String
A traveling lute virtuoso who refuses every offer to leave, searching for the perfect refrain said to be sung once each midsummer by a lost dryad.
Hest, the Ledgerless Baker
A retired caravan accountant who now collects curiosities and trades secrets for sweet rolls — currently obsessed with a map that shows a shifting grove in the Feymarch.
Old Brindle
A stitched-together homunculus who sits by the fire knitting ribbons and watches the moths as if expecting a message.
1
Kethiel the hedge-lord has been seen pacing the bramble-wall outside the Feymarch and asking thorn-brokers if anyone has found a missing summer-star sapphire.
2
A shifting grove called the Swaying Ring appears at the edge of the Feymarch only at dusk; Master Orren claims a dryad there knows the final verse to a lost lament that binds seasons.
3
A cartographer named Mara Wren is selling a map that redraws itself nightly; Hest the Ledgerless trades buns for a single page and swears the map points to a gate that opens under mothlight.
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