Last of Dreams, 1110

Another year comes to a quiet end. The thirty-second day of the fifteenth month arrives without strife or distress, but with subdued merriment. Storms of approaching trouble are brewing all around, but none yet trouble a town being blanketed by the fresh snows of early winter. The third year since the summer’s flood that bore forth the entrance to ancient elven ruins from a riverside hill has only recently been an eventful one for the folk of Fenmoss-town. The merry band whose exploits have so enriched the town and its people have been long away north in The Cloakwood, allegedly involving themselves in the affairs of a backwoods clan’s religious occupations. May their fortunes favor them in the new year, and may yours likewise. Fortune and favor are forces we all seem to need more than ever of late, and yet have in such short supply. Before the snows came there was talk of killer trees and trolls just outside the walls… ‘Tis a very good thing that the earthworks and palisades of Fenmoss-town are so thickly built, well-lit, and well-guarded, a very good thing indeed.