Bells began to ring. Wrasslin looked up to see the bells as a crowd of people walked past him, all seeming to go in the same direction. He followed the scurrying crowd like a man in an inner tube floating along the not-so-lazy river. "What's going on?" Wrasslin mumbled. He habitually struck a pose as the crowd carried him to the festival area, where there stood the priestess. Wrasslin nodded, understanding, in a way, what all the commotion was about.

Wrasslin eyed the statue. He had never seen anything like it. The elves back in his encampment used to pray to a god, but the shrine was built and carved of wood, overgrown with moss. His mentor worshiped a god of travel, often lighting an incense. Never, though, had Wrasslin ever seen such a gloriously built monument. He looked upon the statue in amazement. Still, he posed.