“Well?”

It is smokey, and dark, around the table. Candles pick through the gloom. It has been long minutes since anyone spoke last.

“I have no particular issue with the idea. I wonder if we have the man power to do it.” Mobley finally speaks. “No one can argue the benefit to Stormhaven, in general.” Stirring his tea, he pauses to consider his own words. “It would shorten the route from St. Callister’s to Serenissima. River barges could take the Orin, instead of the Therin, which would be far faster and safer. And there would be no portage at the Cymbals.”

Barrakas 22, 1001 YK

With the season of storms fast approaching, and no roof over their heads, the party came to realize that a roof would be directly needed. Their plans to rebuild the manor house were reduced to simply getting some form of shelter.

In quick succession the following were realized:

• Although the people of village likely know how to build shelter, it was unlikely they were willing to lend a hand given the party’s prior actions.
• They desperately needed supplies, now that their prior possessions had burned.
• They didn’t know how to build even a cabin.
• They are out of alcohol, and the still would be very unsafe to run in a tent.
• [Critical Failure: Weather Lore] Vaeris was of the opinion that the weather here is inimical to human civilization. He distinctly remembered hurricanes, flooding and tornados every year. The others [Critical Success: Weather Lore] didn’t remember any such calamities other than a single hurricane some four years back.

Barrakas 6, 1001 YK

The village was closing for the evening—people seeking their beds and retreating to the comfort of walls and roofs. Lamenting the lack of entertaining nightlife, the party found themselves returning to the ruins of their manor. It was early evening, and they lacked any particular will to sleep yet.

Werem pointed out that they had yet to explore the basement space of their manor, so he and Vaeris headed down into the gloom. Baelana stayed above in case the stairs should collapse, and escape was needed. Beneath the house, the party found nothing but rotten refuse. Here might have been a storeroom, once filled with sparkling preserves and root vegetables. There might have been a workshop, though the intervening years and moisture have reduced the tools to naught be rust. Beneath the old great hall they found an equally sized space that may once have been seperated by thin partition walls—all collapsed now. Along the walls there is evidence of flooding; perhaps the river had swollen its banks and washed through here.

Barrakas 6, 1001 YK

Tired, hungry and very very dirty, the party finally sights their destination: Stormhaven. They are relieved that they survived their undead ordeal, and are looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Sleep without howling undead only meters below. Sleep on a soft bed, not cramped into the branches of trees.

The first thing they notice about Stormhaven are the colourful hair styles, and well dressed citizens. Apparently fashion, and appearance, is of high priority here. The people are good looking, perhaps more so given the party’s recent misadventures in the woods. There must be something in the water.

Lharvion 13, 1001 YK

Still in Moonwatch with just over a day until the wagons are supposed to start moving, the party gets bored. Eventually, the resident ne’er-do-well, Vaeris, decides to go looking for an alchemist from whom he can gather bug repellant. They will be travelling through bug infested, jungle swamps after all.

Meanwhile, Werem and Ebrin return to the cartographer to collect their prize. They are impressed, though this map seems more stylistic than the larger Khorvaire map that the man works upon. Was the price worth it? They can’t really decide. The cartographer warns them that the south road is washed out, in parts, from when “the swamps rose up”. The characters worry about their wagons and whether they will be plunging to their swampy deaths if the wagons take the wrong turn in the middle of the night.

Lharvion 5, 1001 YK

Following the end of the Last War, the characters have largely gone their seperate ways; each seeks a way to remain fed in a vastly different world. They still maintain contact, through regular drinking binges at the Pious Goblin and the Monkey Bottle.

Strange letters are delivered to each of the party, which magically transform into portraits of themselves from five years ago. Included is a request to enjoy dinner at The Pearl Yards, with a member of a local noble family, Lord Tomarus P’arven.