Inside the Varmandi clan hall, aged beams stretch overhead, giving a sense of history and weight. At the hall’s far end, Korol Serpent Tongue sits on a raised dais, his keen eyes studying the heroes as they enter. As they approach, the ambient chatter falls silent at his unspoken command. “You’re here,” he says. “The Malani have overstepped, taking Tarkalor Keep for themselves.” Korol pauses, taking a sip from his goblet. “Your arrival might be more timely than you think. Come, and hear of the challenge we now face.