Elira Relicbane did not come to Neverwinter seeking a future. She came carrying the ashes of her past. She was once an apprentice archivist in the Vault of the Sages in Silverymoon, tasked with cataloging damaged relics recovered from the Anauroch frontier. When a shard-bound curse tore through her research circle—claiming her mentor and scarring her own soul—Elira abandoned the cloisters and followed every surviving fragment of lore she could trace southward. Those fragments led her to the Tower District of Neverwinter, where the ruins still breathe faint arcane heat from the eruption of Mount Hotenow. Adventurers pried relics from the wreckage; most were harmless. Some whispered. A few screamed. All of them needed someone who understood that a broken enchantment is not merely a flaw but a wound. Relicbane Curiosities opened its doors in a burnt-out stall beneath what used to be the Merchant Guild Hall’s shadow. Its shelves are lined with fractured charms, half-spent runestones, spell-scrolls melted into glass, and artifacts excavated from before the Cataclysm. Elira coaxes the truth from them—patiently, gently, sometimes painfully. She has learned their moods, their memories, their lingering hungers. Locals swear she can tell where a relic was forged just by how it reacts to moonlight. Adventurers say she refuses to destroy cursed objects outright, claiming that every curse is simply a story that has forgotten how to end. A quiet rumor persists among the Quarter’s merchants: Elira is searching for one relic in particular—an artifact that survived the very curse that broke her life. Some believe it is already hidden in her shop, buried beneath lock, ward, and silence. Others whisper she will not stop until every shattered enchantment in Faerûn has been pieced back together, one grief-marked fragment at a time.