The salt air whips across the docks in the Thundering Steppes, the ocean crashing against the shore. The giant grabs scuttle across the golden sands, seeking to snare the fish thrown on the beach before the sea washes them back out into the bay.
An empty basket clutched to her chest, a lone Halfling looks nervously out across the sands towards the Dead River Basin. A chill, not from the wind, causes her to shiver.
"No way by Brell's Furry Feet am I going out there," she mutters. "Still, those berries won't gather themselves..."
Then she smiles as an idea comes to her. With a smile she shouts at the top of her lungs:
"Noble adventurerers of Norrath, I need your help!"