Westaven
Home of the adventurers presently lodging at the inn.
Waiting for letters from the field
The Librarian keeps a candle burning in the window for this one. The road from far-off Westaven is long, and word from the adventurers has come only in scraps — a travel-stained note here, a hurried sketch there, a seal pressed in a hand nobody quite recognises. Until fuller accounts arrive from the field, these shelves stand waiting. Should you carry a letter from them, the Librarian would be grateful to receive it.