The Weather

[Trevor Owen]

The summer has been hot and long, slowly sliding towards fall, though even with second harvest just getting underway the leaves have yet to begin changing and the grape vines on Miller's Hill have yet to be touched with frost (which helps make the most exceptional winter white wines).

Wolves are howling in the distance at night, which is not such a bad thing really, as wolves are smaller than some of the alternatives. News from the outside world continues to trickle in but slowly, and none of the caravans have yet to bring word of any settlements larger than a few farms or a croft village.

Most of the caravans, with the exception of the Guthrie have forgone carts completely, as no roads worthy of the name really exist between any settlements, and navigating the broken ground with wagons is trying at the least.

More close to home, the fish are running well nearby, however the villagers have been reduced to smoking or pickling nearly everything since the supply of salt is growing low in the area, and no traders have been able to bring much, leading to the supposition that you may be quite a ways from any deserts or oceans where salt flats could provide. Also, the quantity of glass available for glasswares is dwindling, and no good grounds have been found to get a glassblower going, not that any of the townsfolk currently around have much skill in that area. On the other hand, a number of fine clay pits exist in the area, and a couple of kilns are producing suitable mugs and jars of fired clay with rough glazes.

All in all, the first year at Final Haven has been productive and the settlement grows slowly.