Dear Adventurer,
An evil force is growing in Istelaar. You are needed urgently. Please bring this letter to The Frayed Parchment in Old Town, Ravenfall. Speak only to the clerk named Pavar. Whisper the word “Vinathaer” to him and him alone. He will know what to do from there. Keep this letter secret, and speak to no one else.

Signed,

A Desperate Friend

As you enter the bookstore, you notice many shelves filled with more dust and cobwebs than books. There is a small splintered wooden table, surrounded by four equally splintered wooden chairs. A pile of melted wax has hardened in the center of the table, and its many colors indicate several candles met their fate here. A counter extends out from one of the walls in an “L” shape. One arm of the counter is stacked high with books. The other arm is covered in papers and parchments. A wooden stool sits unoccupied behind the counter. A small woodburning stove is in another corner with a dented metal teapot sitting on top. There are multiple windows, but are so covered in dust and grime, little natural light is allowed through. You notice several other patrons milling about, looking slightly lost. Your observation of the bookstore is interrupted by a small person who enters the main room from behind two curtains. He approaches you and introduces himself as Pavar, the proprietor of the shop.

As you descend the rickety wooden steps, you find yourselves in a stone walled room that is rather large for a cellar. The floors are dirt but several cobblestones are placed throughout to provide respite from the dirt. The room is filled with furniture. Similar shelves to the ones upstairs are present . A small bed, made of hay, is in one corner of the room. Along another wall is what appears to be an old alchemist table. It is filled with cracked and dirty vials and beakers. Melted candle wax plagues the wood surfaces. In another corner of the cellars sits on oversized chair. In it, sits an emaciated figure. His clothes are at least three sizes too big. His cloak is tattered and stained. He looks as if his long white hair, and chest length beard, are too much weight for his frail neck to hold. His fingers are long, as are his nails. They are twisted with arthritis. You question how he has the strength to hold the massive ancient-looking tome he has in his hands. He does not look up when you enter the room and you begin to question if the figure is still amongst the living.