Winter settles onto Sharn

An unusually frigid cold settles onto the massive gathering of towers on the southern cliffs of Breland. Snakes of the city’s underbelly retreat into their age-worn abodes, sparking fires in tiny hearths, crowding close to the embers. Vendors swap out crystals and wands for heat stones and thick, wooly coats and brush frost from cold-exposed produce. Wanderbys of the upper levels curse nature-wielders for dragging this type of weather across an area that is oft temperate.

In the dark crevices between trade and fair game, our adventurers are not phased by the cold. They have their goals, the means, and a desired end.

An Explosion Rocks the Plateau

Ilfun the Gnome worked his planing tool into the surface of a hardwood chair. “Another damned miscut piece of furniture from the wood shop”. Around him, his brethren scrambled to keep up with the stringent work schedule the head foreman had imposed.

...Incomplete…

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