The library in Rastridge was clean, quiet, and not very busy: all that Katerin had been hoping for. Where as Typhon would have taken her directly to the subject she was searching for, the elderly man here only offered her a cup of tea, and good luck.

No one bothered her as she sat in a corner, barricaded in by stacks upon stacks of books and scrolls. Wooden bound, leather bound, fancy scroll cases and plain ones. In the few hours time she did have, she found more than expected. Almost enough formulate a plan. It hinged on finding a boat and captain willing to take them, but that was Fykes' task.

The Stormlands were not explored or populated for two main reasons: One was, of course, the Currents—the unexplained and powerful magic that made the waters a death trap for all but the most skilled sailors.

And two was the fact that the place was aptly named. Constant storms plagued Neuavia, or the Stormlands, as it was more commonly named. More lightning struck there than any other place in the world, and the rains never stopped. And nor were they small summer rains. Which likely meant the coasts were plagued with stronger storms near constantly. Mudslides and any other number of natural disasters would assail this place, no matter the season.

The Currents were not so strong in some places, like the routes now used to sail to Itrea. But they were not something you could go around, and no one truly understood how the magic that controlled the Currents functioned. From the charts she found, there were no such tranquil stretches around the Stormlands. She found four accounts of successful travel to the place, and those were questionable at best. One was written in almost illegible dwarven hand, another just snippets in Elvish that hinted to its whereabouts.

It was also rumored to be a place of exile. The greatest mention of it was in ships logs, and criminal records. Sailors would maroon criminals and thieves—putting them in a boat bound for its shores and leaving them to live or die, at the hands of the sea and the storms. Others who committed heinous crimes were treated the same way in the histories of certain coastal cities, and simply shipped away. It was a terrible form of exile, one that was written to be the worst punishment ever concocted.

Most scholars who  studied said it was very unlikely that many of those criminals ever made it to Neuavia. It was presumed that most had died, or had found land to survive on before such fantastical and mythical places had ever been involved.

A land of outcasts surely, if any had survived to find it. Nothing about the place seemed even close to mundane, or peaceful, and Katerin felt that she should be terrified. But there was only excitement as she scraped together every snippet of information she could find. She was not even tired as she left the library behind her, pulling her cloak a little tighter against her shoulders as the evening wind blew up from the river.

She turned away from the library, and wound down the foggy streets, headed away from her true destination for the moment. Donovar had insisted that she had to come and get him, before moving on to the tavern.

She took her time on the cobbled streets, and smiled as children rushed past her on their way home for dinner. Even at her meandering pace, it was not long until she saw the familiar shop. No sign hung above its door, and within the windows a menagerie of things were displayed. Strange hats, paper tassels and other decorations, most of which were dyed in bright and distracting colors. 

She opened the door and heard the loud chiming of a bell, that was nowhere to be seen. The small room was packed to the ceiling with all manner of items on display. Costumes, firecrackers, potions, knick-knacks and other oddities filled the shelves in a haphazard way. A large counter full of gaudy jewelry sat to one side and the sensation of magic hit her as though she had walked into a brick, along with a pungent herbal smell. She often wondered if anything inside here was mundane.

"Donovar?" she asked. She heard items thumping to the floor, and the gnome appeared from behind the counter. He dropped a groggy hand on the counter, unsettling a small canister that fell. As it hit the floor there was a shrill, trumpet-like sound, and a burst of confetti exploded in a cloud around him.

Katerin jumped at the noise, and watched the pieces of paper with caution. She had spent enough time around magic to know that often times, party tricks had two parts.

He sniffed,and scrubbed a hand across his wrinkled velvet vest, freeing it of the paper like it was a common occurrence. "Bout time you got here! I waited so long I fell asleep."

"I was studying."

He shook his head. "Why? There's plenty of other, more interesting things to do." He blinked. "Just you?"

She laughed. "No, Fykes and Brazen are already at the tavern."

Donovar sighed. "I was hoping I could finally get that dinner with you."

"Well, I do plan on eating. Are you ready to go or do want me to come back?"

"No, no. Let me get my coat." He swung himself over the counter, not bothered by the idea of walking around it, and plucked a coat from the rack near the door.

Katerin gestured to the mess of confetti over the counter. "Something new you've been working on?"

"No! I always have those around. Kids love em." He grinned, and plucked a mask from a display to his side. "This, is new."

Katerin gave him a skeptical look. For an illusionist who made his living selling toys and party trinkets, he sometimes held a very lecherous glance. She took the mask, and studied it. It was a masquerade mask, made in the style of a black panthers face. 

He stood with hands on hips and watched her, gesturing for her to try it on.When she did, Donovar exclaimed happily, and tugged her to a large mirror in front of one window.

No longer was her face familiar, and in its place was the face of the panther, whiskers and all with vibrant and shining fur. As she touched her face she smiled, there was no fur there, only an image or illusion of such. "How did you—"

Donovar cut her off with a sigh. "Can't you just say it's neat? Always asking how this, why that." DOnovar sighed. "Just be amazed, Katerin! Stop taking the fun out of everything." His voice was gruff, with a wheeze at the end of every sentence as if he had something caught in his throat.

Katerin frowned, and handed him back the mask. "I was just curious."

"Curiosity is bad for half-elves, and you know it," he said, but a smile broke through his squinted eyes. "Come on out, so I can lock up."

She waited a moment outside the shop, as Donovar locked more than one mechanism, and spoke a few phrases over the door. She absently wondered if he had ever locked himself out, being as forgetful and as he was.

Soft light gave off a diffuse glow from inside the cozy houses as they walked up the street to an already bustling tavern. The streets were quieter now but still populated, as children rushed back to their homes, and people made their way to and from their daily labors.

The Everin brothers was warm and inviting. It had a scarred stone bar, with an assortment of bottles and kegs behind it. A messy floor, and a dozen tables and chairs, half of them with cracks and other imperfections. But it was warm, and the smells of meat cooking over a spit made her mouth water instantly.

Its patrons were loud and unruly but never angry or violent. If they found themselves in such a mood, a thick dwarven fist or a thick wooden paddle that hung on the back wall within easy reach of Trevor, the barkeep, would solve that problem.

Pipe smoke wafted from several sources, and the smell of ale and stronger things mixed to create a pleasant atmosphere. Donovar made his way to the bar without wasting a second, and plopped down on a stool as Katerin leaned on the doorway, watching as Fykes told a story.

Fykes stole the attention of many a patron, speaking as if he was performing a great show. He did not over embellish, as Jon did. But what he said sounded like it had stepped straight out of a storybook, with no effort at all. He had his audience captivated and enthralled.

He was telling a story from last winter. They had been traveling back to O'siaris, and had encountered a large and angry lizard who had attempted to swallow him, and succeed, if only for a moment, before its death. Katerin had found it terrifying at the time, but now as he retold it, she found herself grinning. Once he finished, he gave a slight bow, and turned back to the bar with a grin.

"And there's my savior, now," he said, gesturing to Katerin.

She shook her head, brushing her hair back and took a seat. "I only helped it along," she said. She leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. "I already have too many people staring at me in this city... was it necessary to give them yet another tale?"

"No." He gave her that same boyish smirk. "But it's a damn good story." There was humor dancing in his lavender eyes.

"It wasn't a bad one," Donovar agreed.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Brazen asked.

"I did." she grinned, giving him a quick hug. "More than I had before, in any case. And Mikhale is sending two people to meet us, tonight. Said they were interested in joining us."

Fykes pushed a plate towards her. "Get some food. You're ravenous, and I know it."

She agreed without speaking and by the time she cleaned her second plate, a tall figure strode through the door.

The woman had thick shoulders and a wide stance. Her silver-scaled skin reflected back the torch light. The size of the scales diminished as they reached her face, like silver droplets of water. Her eyes were the color of ice, with flecks of yellow near their center. Delicate fins decorated the top of her head, shimmering in a metallic hue.

She had an intimidating, yet disheveled look to her. Despite her lack of armor, she carried a heavy war-hammer on her belt. Around her neck was a wide amulet with a carved image of a lightning bolt striking through a hammer and rending it in half. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and one finned, silver eyebrow raised as she saw Katerin observing her.

She sat down at the bar on an open stool next to Fykes, and peered around him at Katerin, as Donovar stared at her.

"Really?" she asked, arching one eyebrow at Fykes. "I mean... he's pretty but he doesn't look very tough..." Her voice held a slight rumble.

"The odd ones always do the best," Donovar said, with a wink.

Katerin blinked a few times, startled. "Roahn?"

"That's me." She stretched, and dropped a coin on the bar as she reached for a mug. She took a long gulp, before looking back to Katerin. "Heard you were trying to get to the Stormlands. That's true ain't it?"

"It is..." Katerin said. "But I was searching for someone more gifted as a healer."

Roahn gave her a deadpan look. "I am a healer," she said, an edge to her voice. "Don't believe me?" She grinned, and pulled a dagger from her belt.

Katerin squeaked as she drew the short blade across her palm, and held it up as the blood flowed. Then she whispered a spell, and the cut closed as if it had never been there.

"I... that was unnecessary." Katerin said, looking at the woman's hand.

Roahn shrugged. "I made my point. And I'd like to go."

Fykes sat between them with a huge smile. "I think she'll do fine."

Katerin fought to wipe the concern from her face. "Alright... but why do you want to go?"

"She just does," Donovar said, staring at her hand.

"You think you're the only one searching for legends? I'm looking for a hammer. It's the essence of storm itself." Roahn gave them a toothy grin. "I figure there's no better place to search then the Stormlands, and it ain't anywhere else I've been."

Katerin considered quietly for a moment.

"Look. All I want is food, shelter, and a shot at finding that hammer. I'll do my best to keep you all kickin' in return," Roahn said, as if studying Katerin's expression.

"Deal," Fykes said, and Katerin gave him a sideways look.

"Good deal," Donovar echoed, looking as if he might fall asleep at any moment.

Roahn smirked and looked Fykes over, as if noticing the quality of the clothes he wore. "And a bit of coin never hurt anyone, either."

Fykes snorted. "Your drinks are on me, then."

Roahn grinned. "Your coin pouch is going to regret that, by the end of the night."

Fykes only gave her a smile.

Katerin asked her a barrage of other questions. And she answered them all, though it was in an almost an offended tone.

Katerin did find her to have a sharp sense of humor, at least, and she seemed more than capable. Confident, too. Maybe a bit too aggressive, but Katerin saw no issue with that, as long as she could point it in the right direction.

Roahn drank more than one woman should be capable of while they talked, but showed no signs of passing out or being sick. Unlike Donovar, who within the hour had fallen asleep in a skillful way, so as not to lay upon the bar, or fall off his stool.

Eventually Roahn bid them goodnight, and stalked out the door as if daring someone to get in her way.

Not long after her departure, another odd soul wandered into the tavern.

This figure had to bend over quite far to fit through the door. He was lanky, with long swaying arms, and legs hidden by robes that fit him well. A satchel hung askew off one of his shoulders. He had long, droopy ears, too-large oval shaped green and brown eyes, a wide and slightly flat nose... and fur. Soft shades of brown and black covered over him completely, tufting out at the tips of his ears.

He looked nervous and shy as he glanced about the room.

Katerin's jaw dropped and she smacked Fykes' arm. "Fykes... that's a... he's a..."

"Mhm," Fykes agreed, looking as if he was trying no to laugh. "Forest-folk is the term you're looking for."

He approached them with slow, careful strides. Calm radiated from him, despite his uneasy glances at all the people. "Are you Katerin?" he asked, in a quiet, slow and deep voice. He had leaned forward, bending down to speak to her.

"I... I am," she said, shaking herself. "You're Trunk?"

He nodded, a slow bow of his head. "You still travel to the Stormlands?"

"We're planning on it. Please sit with us," she said.

"I would be honored to join you, if you would have me," Trunk moved cautiously onto the stool. Like he might hurt it, if he was not careful. "I can... change the weather, and I am quite good at healing."

"Can we offer you a drink?" Fykes asked, looking completely unfazed by the forest-folk.

Trunk shook his head. "I am sustained."

"You look strange," Brazen said.

Trunk smiled, and leaned towards him. "I am not the only strange thing, small one."

"You're certainly not what we were expecting," Katerin said. "Why travel to the Stormlands? What do you want to find there?" She studied him further, now that her shock was fading. He wore simple robes, no shoes, and had a slightly wild look to him. As if he would be more at home in Ky'lei'mei, then here in a city.

"I want to study the flora and fauna. I know little of it, and it calls out to me. Yours is the first voyage I have heard of to give me such an opportunity."

Katerin noticed that the rest of the tavern had forgotten their manners as she had, and was silently staring at Trunk, where he sat. On a glance from her they all coughed, or fidgeted, and went back to their evening activities. "We still have quite a bit of time before we leave... but you are welcome to join us at our home, or meet us before we leave."

"Where is your home?" Trunk asked, leaning towards her again. His ears twitched "I am not fond of cities."

"Itrea," she said. "No city."

"Just a small town and a lot of forest," Fykes said, spinning his mug across the bar.

Trunks eyes lit up at the mention of forests. "Itrea," he said. "I will find your forests. Meet you when you are ready to leave."

"Aright" Katerin agreed. "I will try to contact you—"

"I will know when," Trunk said, with a smile. "Do not worry." With that he stood, bowed his head to them, and strode carefully toward the door.

"Uhm... well..." Katerin said, watching him leave.

"That was interesting," Fykes agreed, setting his empty mug down on the table.

Katerin tried to find words to respond, but none came to her in the moment, so she only shrugged.

The night continued in a comfortable fashion. There was no lack of food and drink, and the cooking fires kept away the spring chill that grasped the air.

As they readied themselves to go home, Katerin glanced to Donovar where he slept. "We can't just leave him."

Fykes glanced to the drooling, sleeping gnome. "Really? He's left me on more than one occasion. I thought it was only fair."

Katerin looked at him with a roll of her eyes. "Lets take him home." She shook his shoulder, and only received a groan in response. "Come on, wake up. It's time to go home."

There was a half-coherent. "No."

"Donovar," Katerin said. "Wake up."

"Carry me."

Katerin sighed, and looked to Fykes.

"Really?" he asked, and she kept her stern expression. He sighed, and hefted Donovar with one arm. Before he could adjust the gnomes weight, he had shoved away from Fykes and landed on his feet with a sway.

"Not you," Donovar said, with a glare.

"Oh look! You're awake," Katerin grinned.

He sighed. "I don't want to go back to the shop. Won't be busy for at least another month. No one comes in. Sowing festivals don't use much confetti. It's all seeds and jars of dirt."His expression told them exactly what he thought about seeds and jars of dirt, and it did not seem pleasant.

"Come to Itrea? The inn should have a few rooms," Fykes said. "Harness and Mary could always use the business." 

"Like a vacation?" Donovar's eyes brightened. "I like vacations."