In the darkest part of the night, a blackbird lands on a roof in Westcrown. Not on fire? Not just yet? Okay, good. And people aren't stabbing each other down in the streets? No raping and pillaging to speak of that she can see? Gosh, she might not even look like a dumbass after all this. Or maybe she will. Who knows.

The self appointed druid delegate of the Barrowood finds the appropriate building that is supposed to house this thing she's supposed to be here for. Then she finds a nice little nook on the roof of said building, returns to her normal form, sets down her bedroll, and gets to trying to get literally any sleep before having to, ugh. Social.

In the darkest part of the night, a blackbird lands on a roof in Westcrown. Not on fire? Not just yet? Okay, good. And people aren't stabbing each other down in the streets? No raping and pillaging to speak of that she can see? Gosh, she might not even look like a dumbass after all this. Or maybe she will. Who knows.

The self appointed druid delegate of the Barrowood finds the appropriate building that is supposed to house this thing she's supposed to be here for. Then she finds a nice little nook on the roof of said building, returns to her normal form, sets down her bedroll, and gets to trying to get literally any sleep before having to, ugh. Social.

In the darkest part of the night, a blackbird lands on a roof in Westcrown. Not on fire? Not just yet? Okay, good. And people aren't stabbing each other down in the streets? No raping and pillaging to speak of that she can see? Gosh, she might not even look like a dumbass after all this. Or maybe she will. Who knows.

The self appointed druid delegate of the Barrowood finds the appropriate building that is supposed to house this thing she's supposed to be here for. Then she finds a nice little nook on the roof of said building, returns to her natural form, sets down her bedroll, and gets to trying to get literally any sleep before having to, ugh. Social.

In the darkest part of the night, a blackbird lands on a roof in Westcrown. Not on fire? Not just yet? Okay, good. And people aren't stabbing each other down in the streets? No raping and pillaging to speak of that she can see? Gosh, she might not even look like a dumbass after all this. Or maybe she will. Who knows.

The self appointed druid delegate of the Barrowood finds the appropriate building that is supposed to house this thing she's supposed to be here for. Then she finds a nice little nook on the roof of said building, returns to her natural form, sets down her bedroll, and gets to trying to get literally any sleep before having to, ugh. Social.

In the darkest part of the night, a blackbird lands on a roof in Westcrown. Not on fire? Not just yet? Okay, good. And people aren't stabbing each other down in the streets? No raping and pillaging to speak of that she can see? Gosh, she might not even look like a dumbass after all this. Or maybe she will. Who knows.

The self appointed druid delegate of the Barrowood finds the appropriate building that is supposed to house this thing she's supposed to be here for. Then she finds a nice little nook on the roof of said building, returns to her natural form, sets down her bedroll, and gets to trying to get literally any sleep before having to, ugh. Social.