Västervik is a fishing town on the road to nowhere and travelers are few in its single tavern. But the town is vibrant nonetheless, every day dozens of boats set out into the islands beyond, most to fish but the more adventurous and foolhardy scavenge the wrecks that litter the islands and shoals of the Forræderiske Øer.
The tavernkeeper, an elderly Dwarf named Kjorn, is tending the hearth as you walk in the door, turning he is delighted to see you and speaks with a wide grin. "The wind in my sails you 're! I don't get to many folk lookin' fer beds these days. Few folk venture this far North on foot these days. Come, set by the fire and warm your bones and my boy'll get yer rooms ready." Kjorn tosses another log on the fire and turns towards the kitchen shouting, "Javik! Stop sampling the brew and get some rooms tidy!"
After a couple of drinks and an hour in front of Kjorn's fire you set out to explore the town. The sun hangs low in the later afternoon sky as you see a handful of fishing boats headed back to harbor, those few lucky and skillful enough to have already filled their baskets and nets. You pass the shops of smiths and coopers and other tradesmen hard at work and the warehouse of an elven merchant wrapped in a thick fur coat overseeing two carpenters raising a new sign over his door, Lansidel's Obscura, Arcana & Divine.
You reach the shore where the first stone quay extends out into the Sea, at the far end stands the Lighthouse, vacant. As you stare at the light house you are approached by a man with a heavy beard beginning to go grey at the ends, "They say it hasn't been lit in a hundred years, I ain't that old but its never been lit in my lifetime. Some say she's haunted, others that the people who built these quays snuffed it out so that no one could find their way into the heart the Forræderiske Øer. Some think there's a fortress in there, walls ten times the hight of a man. I doubt that's true, but the fisherman would pay a heft some to anyone who would light that thing again." You hear shouting from the direction the man came from, "Ach, that'll be the wife. Those nets aren't going to make themselves."
The sun begins to set and the bulk of the fishermen have finally arrive, the docks are filled with the smell of freshly caught fish as they are gutted, salted and put on ice. The wind has picked up again, so you head back towards the tavern for dinner and a good nights rest. There were only three or four in Kjorn's tavern this afternoon, but now it is packed with red-nosed fishermen just arrived from the days catch. A great pot of oil can be heard bubbling in the kitchen as Kjorn fries battered fish which he serves in large cloth-lined baskets. The fish is excellent, as is the beer, but you already knew that and after a delicious meal and a few drinks you head upstairs to a nice warm bed and a long sleep.