...of the Golden Grapes of Ghirimar

As evening settles over the town, a bustling throng fights their way through clouds of summer’s gnats and midges. All those more in need of drink than food strain their way down Stilt street to the door beneath the sign of a pickerel in a wedding gown. “Come in, come one and all,” cries Halsta at this jovial hour. “Today we're no mere alehouse,” she hawks with bunghammer in hand. “You'll not want to miss this one, leeches and lasses. Tonight, if you've silver at hand, you can drink Ghirimese Gold!” It is no wonder that Halsta was able to lead adventuring sorts into danger in her younger days, with a commanding voice so joyfully unbefitting one of her stature. Her rousing speech tonight easily stirred the crowd to a similar fervor. Though the cask was grand, and the cups none-too-large, indeed the wine was gone not long after her call to adventure. Halsta’s coffers, on the other hand, had swelled as from a treasure hoard in those olden days. The day's work was done, and soon only a few Hooks would remain to relish a night between outings.