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The warmth of a small fire is of some solace here in this deep and dry cave. This wicked winter keeps the land outside locked in its firm and cruel grip. Wildermore has always been a wilder land, the Balewood in particular, but there are strange matters afoot.
A lively evening at the Roaring Dragon tavern in Bancross village, where the locals tested their bravery and stomach on a new batch of ale delivered, The Old Saddle.
A merry evening at the Roaring Dragon tavern in Bancross hamlet! Drink flowed in plenty, stories and news were shared over platters of hearty vittles, while the bright hearth kept the winter's chill and darkness safely outside. Duncadda and his companion played a few jaunty tunes, including an ode to the one and only Gamferth, while Waelden tried his mettle with the infamous Old Saddle brew!
The warmth of a firepit is of little solace up here in the mountains, where the wicked winter’s fist keeps the land in a firm and cruel grip. Wildermore has always been a “wild” place so to speak, for it is not the kind of land one would pass through easily and without purpose, and the people who do make their living here are hardened folk.
We both looked to Elfmar, speaking with one of his men. His back was partly turned towards the door, so though he had likely heard our footsteps, he hadn’t yet seen us. I paused.