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After hearing from Hearing from Allendi (the master of the monastery) that the Hobbit clan Durano had, to a man, disappeared. Over recent times, Allendi says “something” has moved in to the northern ramparts. Singlemindedly, Imbo states that this must be investigated.

Kobolds show up and die like the useless lizards they are. One escapes underground.

When Imbo reaches the campsite of the Durano, he says that they must have numbered in the tens; the camp was in shambles, but not as if there had been a huge fight or flight from there. Taking in the scene, Imbo's jaw tightens, but his eyes soften. He tosses a handful of grass into the air, and drops to his knees, and begins what you assume is a rite for the dead. It turns out to be a poem, and all who listen are entranced (Diplomacy Roll=25)

Prayer for the lost Imbo Grassfeather, Op. 1

<i>When your soul slips into the formless grey whisper Her name and follow the light feel the love and feel the warmth of Avandra's smile

Kegs never empty, dancers never tire the hunters find prey in the hills Just beyond, a city fair with roofs, and shadows and Marks

She shall give you what no eye has seen, what no ear has heard what no hand has touched and what has not come to be simply know that joy exists Under Amandra's grace</i>*

[Imbo stands and whispers “All speed—save me a flagon of stout”]

He turns to the group: “Many have died, but not all–that path (he points to a cleared path that seems to lead towards the ramparts) is our route. Are we ready?

*Oin is confused by Imbo's prayer—it was as if it were a cleric spell, but no Divine Power came from him.

Oh, and we're like all second level and stuff.