1494
In 1494 DR, the Silverstrings Inn was destroyed during the Attack of the Dawn Titan, but it was rebuilt in Hawthorne. An effort was made to keep the same appearance it had before.
A sign crafted of ebony hangs above the door, swaying slightly. Inlaid upon the wood is a simple harp, wrought in silver. Laughter and music spill forth joyously from the Inn as soon as one opens the door. The common room is spacious, with tables arranged around a stage. All entertainers are welcome here, and can earn coin for their performance.
Often on the stage, a scruffy pirate plays the bagpipes, pausing occasionally to regale the audience with an outlandish tale. When he isn’t on stage, he sits at the corner of a gleaming oaken bar, surrounded with the artifacts of nautical exploits. A big man lounges laconically at one of the tables, a shining shield at his side. He is quick to end any fights in the Silverstrings, throwing out the instigator on their ear in short order. Observing all the hubbub with half-lidded eyes is a tabaxi slouching aristocratically,
The Inn is full of the adventurous sort, bards and minstrels, paladins and priests. There are representatives of all the goodly faiths at the Inn, from paladins of Lurue and Milil to clerics of the Triad. Soldiers and rogues and fools, all of good heart.
A very tall mouse darts between the tables, bringing the patrons what they ask and cleaning the odd mess. Every so often, he pauses reverentially before a small shrine in the corner of the common room. There are a handful of items at the shrine; a pair of gleaming swords, a suit of plate armor, a small urn of ashes, and a beautiful lute, all artfully arranged below the painting of a handsome half-elf, mischief twinkling in his eyes.