Wyrkrhit, a Skylift operator, needs you to recover a cargo load abandoned by a terrified wagon driver and deliver it to its intended recipient.

Wyrkrhit: Glad I am to see ye again, lass. A wagon driver just returned in a great bloody hurry, screamin’ about some monstrosity what sprang out from a millioncorn seedling in his cargo.
Wyrkrhit: Seems the gutless bastard tossed it over the side afore turnin’ tail an’ runnin’ for his life. I need ye to head down the road, recover that seedling, an’ deliver it to Lyulf over at Swiftperch in western La Noscea.
Wyrkrhit: Whatever he pays ye for the cargo is yers to keep. After all, I don’t rightly know what else is lurkin’ inside that plant, an’ ye deserve to be rewarded for yer troubles.
Wyrkrhit: Oh, an’ ye’ll also find an aetheryte in Swiftperch, so the journey should be worth yer while.

Lyulf: Has Nymeia Herself forsaken this desolate land? Though I understood there were risks in gambling my entire fortune on a crop of millioncorn, I at least expected the seedling to be delivered before disaster struck!
Lyulf: Is…is that my millioncorn seedling!? O joyous day! It may seem a paltry beginning, but the yield of this particular variety of crop plant is nothing short of astonishing.
Lyulf: As you have undoubtedly noticed, Swiftperch lacks a certain, shall we say, vital energy? Thus I mean to restore a modicum of hope to its residents by growing a veritable ocean of corn!
Lyulf: You, madam, seem fit to burst with vim and vigor! Might I persuade you to abide a while and help nurture this ailing settlement?

Osha Jaab, a Wood Wailer at the Matron’s Lethe, is looking for a sure-footed adventurer to pluck blue trumpets from the root of the nearby heavenspillar.

Osha Jaab: Ho there, adventurer. You seem light on your feet. Fancy a quick skip along the root of the heavenspillar here? I need someone to pick off a blue trumpet or two.
Osha Jaab: I know what you’re thinking: it’s naught more than a mushroom, so why the commotion? I’ll tell you why. You allow that fungal menace to multiply, and within a moon they’ll be covering the whole damn root and rotting the wood clear through.
Osha Jaab: Just watch your step while you’re up there, though─the diremites on the ground won’t waste any time adding insult to falling injuries.
Osha Jaab: Once you’re done, head up to the top end of the root and report to Theodore. He’ll be glad to hear someone’s taken care of one of his more dreaded chores.

Theodore: Oh, you’ve cleared the root of blue trumpets? Wonderful! To be quite honest, I have this teeny-tiny problem with heights. (sigh) No, this is not my ideal posting, but we all do what we must.
Theodore: Keeping the root passable is an important job, you see. It’s one of the few ways folk can traverse the Central Shroud since the Calamity all but split the area in twain.
Theodore: It is not, perhaps, the easiest pathway to walk, but there are those who believe the will of the Matron Herself caused this tendril of a heavenspillar to remain thus suspended, that it might serve the forest’s people. I’m rather fond of the notion, myself.

Drunken Stag needs someone to retrieve the raw Nashachite he dropped outside the mines.

Drunken Stag: The “product” you heard Dadanen going on about is a valuable gemstone known as raw Nashachite. I managed to dig up a goodly amount just before the mines were closed off, actually.
Drunken Stag: Packed it up and hauled it out, even. But then them Twelve-damned coblyns came along. Not like any coblyns I’d seen before, and hungry only for the good rocks. They had eyes for my gemstones, so I had no choice but to oblige.
Drunken Stag: The Stone Torches had their hands full evacuating the mines, so they ignored the beasts. Even now, they’re only concerned with keeping people out. Please, friend, if you’re willing to face the coblyns, would you bring me my Nashachite?

Drunken Stag: How did you fare, friend? Did you find the raw Nashachite?
Drunken Stag: Beautiful, isn’t it? Rarer than many stones, and more expensive than most. They say the green is the same as the eyes of Nanasha Ul Nasha, who once ruled as the sultana.
Drunken Stag: This should save Dadanen from his troubles…if there’s enough left. There’s far less here than what I found. I reckon those coblyns made a meal of the stuff. Bloody waste…

Baderon, the proprietor of the Drowning Wench, has a suggestion to put you on the road towards new adventures.

Baderon: ‘Ow do ye fare, Meredith? Rested and ready to expand yer ‘orizons?
Baderon: Well, then, I’ve an idea o’ where ye might try ‘eadin’ next. ‘Ave ye ‘eard o’ the Skylift out in middle La Noscea?
Baderon: If ye’ve ever visited Woad Whisper Canyon, then ye must’ve been up and down the thing at least once. It’s that big bleedin’ scaffoldin’ attached to the Descent.
Baderon: Ye’ve likely seen the lads and lasses out there usin’ it to ‘aul cargo up the cliff face. ‘Ard labor, that, and I ‘ear they could use an enterprisin’ soul to pick up the odd jobs what no other bugger ‘as time to deal with.
Baderon: Track down the ‘ead o’ the operation─bloke by the name o’ Wyrkrhit─and ‘e’ll be sure to put ye to work on a task or two.

Wyrkrhit: Baderon sent ye out here, did he? Then consider yerself welcome at the Skylift.
Wyrkrhit: Look at that bloody cliff, will ye? One blast o’ fiery hell from that huge dragon was all it took to split the ground in half.
Wyrkrhit: Cargo still needs to get through, though, so this mess o’ wood an’ pulleys was our solution to the problem.
Wyrkrhit: Well, one of ’em, at least. If the gods were kind─an’ they ain’t─I’d have about a dozen more workers to handle me growin’ list o’ headaches…