BARIMAR HELVITLAR'S SECRET LIBRARY

“Thirty-five years, kid. You disappear to the surface for thirty-five years, blow up an Elder Brain, and walk back into my office—this literal converted janitorial mop closet on the second floor above a duergar bar—holding hands with a pale high-elf vampire in ruffled lace who looks like he’s about to faint because the taproom below doesn't serve chilled Berduskan vintage. Mind the low copper pipes, Rhyl'al. The desk is yours, the filing cabinets are yours, and the old galvanized mop trough in the corner still works as a crossbow rack. If the floorboards shake, don't panic—the duergar downstairs have been bellowing mining ballads since second-bell. Sit down, take a breath. Here’s everything I stole from the Baenre vaults and everything I learned while you were playing hero under the moon. And tell Astarion not to bite the duergar merchants—their blood tastes like sulfur and bad life decisions.”