The biting wind of Geistmire nips at your exposed cheeks, a stark contrast to the sweat that still clings to your palms from the desperate climb up the crumbling watchtower. You've been following the rumors, whispers of a hidden scroll, a fragment of forgotten magic, said to be held within the city's heart. Days of fruitless searching have left you weary, your hope dwindling with each passing shadow. You'd almost given up, almost turned back, when a faint, warm glow pierces the oppressive gloom.

You follow the light, your boots crunching on the cobblestones, until you stand before the Dusk Devil's Rest. The soft, amber light spilling from the paper lanterns promises warmth, a respite from the chilling air and the gnawing loneliness. You need information, a lead, anything. And if the rumors are true, this tavern, a place where the living and the spectral mingle, might hold the key. You adjust the worn leather strap of your satchel, take a deep breath, and slide open the shoji door, the scent of spiced tea and the low hum of conversation washing over you. Perhaps, just perhaps, this place holds more than just warmth. You step inside, the soft glow of the lanterns casting long shadows behind you, your eyes scanning the room for anyone who might know the city's secrets. You need to find that scroll, and you have a feeling that the answers you seek will be found within the walls of the Dusk Devil's Rest.