We sat in the "Wet Trout Tavern" in Easthaven on a chill spring evening. Arifal had delivered to Dain Silverstream all the news of the previous days. There was some consternation among the dwarves and they had now reason to consider an expedition to the Durncrag mines. If some fell creature had reopened them, then the silver flowing could be a cause for concern amongst the Ten Towns.
We shared drinks and tales around the fire, letting the wood smoke mingle with the smell of cooking knucklehead. Bold oaths were sworn and boasts made by men and women who had too many pints. The word had spread amongst various folk that the mines could be a place of both risk and reward for the daring. Around the tavern were some of the riskiest folk I knew. There were warriors of renown and others less noble but just as capable in the shadows.
Rurden's Armory was conducting brisk business of late, and so too were the local shopkeeps. All selling the essentials to a trip into the mountains. The local druids were concerned that somehow a balance had been upset in the Spine of the World and this could foretell a greater danger than the current silver rush would seem to let on. There was a sense of eagerness and foreboding in equal measure, the upcoming spring could prove decisive one way or the other. . . . .