Sheets of rain have been falling for several hours but despite this throughout Ptolus the taverns and bars are full to bursting with the celebrating citizen drinking to the new year on this 1st of Newyear. Lightning strikes illuminate the night every few minutes revealing the most striking feature of Ptolus, the Spire. The Spire a constant reminder of all the evil the lurks above, below, and in the streets of Ptolus. It's evil presence seems to weigh heavily in the air tonight. The streets seem empty despite the occasional patrolling guard and the shivvel addicts wondering about in a haze. All of you are making your way to the Ghostly Minstrel, for a gathering of local adventurers being hosted by The Delver's Guild, to be held this evening in honor of the New Year. Strangely the snow that usually coats the ground this time of year can only be seen in clumps of mush resting the in gutters, and the eves of windows. Strange warm weather started a week ago. What would normally been an occasion to get out of the cold and in front of a warm fire at the Minstrel instead is a chance to drink some cold mead to cool down and wring out your wet clothing near the hearth after a humid day.
On the corner of each street are posted various announcements from around the city the most prominent of which is are several flyer’s for an upcoming Republican rally in Oldtown and wanted posters for various criminals. Across from the entrance to Delver’s Square you see the small chapel of St. Gustav’s Chapel, a welcome sight to all adventurers who frequent the dungeons below Ptolus.
As you enter Delver’s Sqaure from Center Street, you pull your already drenched cloaks tighter to protect you from the steady downpour and you look at the shops as you pass them. It becomes apparent that those not partying at the taverns have turned in for the evening as most of the shops seem closed. The only citizens you have noticed in the last several blocks venturing onto the streets are the shivvel addicts. They seem to stare out at you from within the confines of doorways and behind broken windows with their bloodshot eyes, blackened fingers and constant shaking. You swear you can smell their horrid breath as you pass them. This alone brings a depressing air to a day of festivities if the hot weather had not nearly ruined them already. May be it is a bad omen of things to come this year. Despite this you head Northwest toward the square's inviting lights and sounds of the Minstrel up ahead.
About 40 feet from the front of the Minstrel you come together old friends and new, for some of you this is the first time you have met each other, for other its is a welcome sight to see old friends and past acquaintances on such an eerie evening like this...