...to Go in Search of Further Adventure

“I ‘eard a rumor from up north the Baron of Thrivindale needs someone t’ hunt down an old sword,” exclaimed a young Hook scarcely promoted from a Tinner. Hurriedly draining a last mug, she slammed a few half-bars on the counter while turning on her heels. “Th’ herald said someth’n about it's killin’ him with its magic and ‘e can only be cured if it gets found, but they say a dragon ‘as it, or a bear or mant’icore. ‘E weren't real clear on that last part. Anyway, I'm going if you lot wants’ta join me.” With a glimmer in her eye and a belly full of fire, she rapidly departed. Several others’ drinks were gulped and sword belts swiped up to hurry alongside. Once the slapping door ceased its clapping, a hushed air returned to the main room of the Fishwife alehouse, and the muggy sluggishness of summer morning life resumed. Everything as it was once again.