"Aye. Last piece stuck upon me home anvils." Her face kinda darkens as her thoughts slip back into the recent past. With a force of will, Myrna chugs the mug of ale to finish it off, and flags the barwench with it to ask for another. "Word around town is that the elves have a camp not far from Mistdale. Are ye passin through, or ye here for business? I dun imagine ye live here. Ye look more of the woodsy type."