Daggerford is just another provincial cauldron filled with small men, old men and fools.
After a tour of the town by a halfling who made up for his height in sheer wordliness, we spend an evening at the local watering hole, a bar named after the goddess of Luck. Everyone had their problems that they expected the halfling to solve, but Darryl and I decided that our best interests were served trying to find Sir Istaval, the man who’s call we’d answered to begin with. It became clear that he was not in the town, and assumed lost in the north eastern hills, near a dwarven stronghold called Firehammer hold. Along the same roads an elven manor also stands which has been troubled by orcs, and I felt that was our best path. Solving the orc issue would only make the town safer by association, and it would bring us closer to the man who’d summoned us.
We decided to leave before first light so we might travel with a group of dwarves also looking to aid Istaval, or discover his fate.