I'm Off to the Elven Ruins!

The morning of Handar slowly dawned on Stilt street. As expected for Lofmanad, the lazy south wind breezed a muggy haze up off the Dusking Fens. Soon, it blanketed Fenmoss-town with the kind of warm, pine-scented languor that makes one want to cast aside blankets but stay in bed for a while longer. Halsta Sharp-Leaf slid groggily down the stairs only large enough to accommodate one of her size and sidled up to her stool behind the bar of The Fishwife alehouse. Lazily, she motioned for Gurik, her sole employee these days, to pick himself up off the floor and hang a broom above the door to signal that kegs were tapped and mugs available. Scarcely were the first customers in the door when a young Hook slammed through the door on his flight down from the guildhall on Tinner Hill. “Have you heard the news? There’s a whole ruined temple under that mountain East of town! Y’know where that flood of the Oakwash last Valdar made that rockslide? At least, I heard it was a temple. It looks like something the Selvorii might have made, if you can believe that. Can you? I'm minded to gather up a group of us Hooks right now and head over there. If we leave now, we can be there before sundown tomorrow!..”