Harvest Rune - Buy or sell now

AN EPISODE FOR FOUR TO SIX WANDERERS IN THE HALDSKYR SETTING It is the ninth month of the year, and the Watching Star Blikkaford glimmers in the sky over the misty fields of Tokkefeld. This farming village, nestled in the mountains north of Solanor, was built upon an ancient battlefield, its soil made fertile by Rotunnhond’s generous decay. Over a century ago, a Basalt Giant settled down among the mountains for a deep slumber, her breath shielding Tokkefeld with protective mists and her heart-rune enriching its land further still. Enriched by these boons, the fields of Tokkefeld are overflowing with the bounty of autumn. Pumpkins, beans, roots, and greens sprout in colorful rows, eager to be harvested and sold across the Western Domain. By now, the harvest should be in full swing, but something else has caught the farmers’ attention. The Basalt Giant Sovakfjel has awakened. No earthquake preceded her waking, no eruption, no storm, no terrible war (though there was that falling star a few months back). With a few earth-shaking steps, the Giant has come to loom above the fields of Tokkefeld, her heart-rune casting the crops in a dull, amethyst glow. Perched atop her shoulder is a massive thunderbird, her feathers crackling with electricity. The Giant’s voice has faded with her heart-rune, and the thunderbird will reveal his purpose to none but a group of heroes, chosen by the Watching Stars. When the wanderers arrive, the thunderbird will identify himself as an avatar of Tvybyrsal, the Watching Star of Electricity and a voice for the voiceless. The Giant’s heart-rune has been siphoned of its earth-nourishing magic, and it is nearly depleted. If the wanderers cannot help replenish the Giant’s primordial energy, she will have to find another mountain range to call her home, taking the protective mists and half the potency from Tokkefeld’s legendary soil. The village marshal and the local priest are at odds over how quickly to tackle this problem. A tinkerer keeps spouting off crazy theories in the local tavern. And there’s a ne’er-do-well at the local tavern who’s usually wrapped up in the trouble around town; why should this time be any exception?