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As the amber-hued sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm embrace upon the tranquil village, the rhythmic lull of gentle waves signaled the arrival of a modest fleet of boats at the weathered port. A hushed anticipation blanketed the scene, for this was no bustling harbor, but a haven nestled against the quiet bosom of the kingdom.

The boats, battered and adorned with tales of tempests weathered, were guided into the cradle of the port by skilled hands weathered by years of braving the unpredictable depths of the vast ocean. These vessels, not grand or adorned in regal splendor, were the humble chariots of local fishers, brave souls who danced with the ocean's bounty to feed the heart of the village.

The port, an anomaly in the kingdom's maritime route, stood in stark contrast to the bustling, malodorous harbors that dotted the coastal expanse. Here, the air was pure, untouched by the stench of decay that clung to the more populous docks. A delicate dance of aromas wafted through the sea breeze – a symphony of salted air intermingling with the village's rich repertoire of herbs and incense.

The scent, as if a spell cast upon the harbor, painted the atmosphere with a mosaic of olfactory sensations. Aromatic herbs hung in bundles, swaying gently in the breeze, while incense wafted like whispers of ancient tales. The fragrance, a testament to the harmonious coexistence of nature and civilization, enveloped the port in a delicate embrace.

As the day waned, a singular boat glided into Ranshelm's port, its arrival marking the ebbing of daylight. This vessel, distinct from the familiar fishing boats, bore the insignia of distant shores, a silent emissary from the mainland. As the villagers gathered in quiet curiosity, the air carried whispers of change.

From the boat descended a cadre of passengers, their eyes filled with a blend of anticipation and purpose. Among them were merchants, eager to weave the tales of Ranshelm's herbal treasures into the markets of the continent. Crates laden with aromatic bundles of the village's specialty herbs were carefully unloaded, their fragrant whispers promising tales of healing and mystery.

Yet, the passengers encompassed more than mere traders. A contingent of seekers disembarked, drawn to the secluded island by the allure of a venerable monastery that perched atop the cliffs like a guardian of ancient wisdom. Some sought solace and spiritual enlightenment, eager to join the monastic order and embrace the tranquility that the island promised. Others sought the counsel of the monks, their services as both guides to the spiritual realm and warriors for hire, whispered of in far-off lands.

Amidst the arrivals, a disparate group of individuals emerged, their motivations as varied as the hues of the twilight sky. There were those driven by an insatiable thirst for answers that only Ranshelm held – a place said to cradle ancient secrets within its shores. The island, a repository of enigmas and whispered legends, became a beacon for those who believed that, within its embrace, one could unravel the threads of destiny and unearth the profound truths that eluded them elsewhere.

The boat rocked gently with the rhythm of the waves navigating the expanse between the mainland and the mysterious island. Gaela, with eyes wide like a child embarking on a grand adventure, stepped onto the weathered deck as dawn painted the horizon. The boat itself might not have boasted opulence, but in Gaela's eyes, it was a ticket to the unknown. Her fingers traced the frayed edge of a timeworn map clutched tightly in her hands. Every creak of the boat seemed like a melody, a prelude to the symphony of discovery awaiting her. Gaela marveled at the endless expanse of the sea. The scent of salt lingered in the air, filling her lungs with anticipation.

As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the water, the outline of the village on the horizon came into view. A cluster of quaint buildings nestled against the backdrop of verdant hills. The girl's heart quickened with the thrill of the unknown, a palpable excitement coursing through her veins. The day had worn on, and now the boat glided into the harbor with a gentle sigh. The village sprawled before her, filled with unfamiliar faces and new possibilities. She stepped onto the wooden pier, her boots echoing against the timeworn boards.

This was no luxurious escapade, but for Gaela, it was a priceless journey into the unexplored. She felt the heartbeat of adventure beneath her skin, and with each step, the village beckoned. The alchemist in her yearned to uncover the hidden alchemy of this foreign land, to distill its essence and weave it into of her own experiences.

Hidden beneath her excitement was a more profound purpose. A clandestine mission that fueled the fire within her. Her eyes concealed a deeper resolve. Gaela's footsteps on the pier echoed. Ranshelm, with its inviting charm, was merely a prelude to the true quest that lay ahead. As the sun dipped below the horizon she set her sights on the looming forest. The tales of the sacred lake hidden within the heart of the dense woodland. A lake said to possess waters infused with an otherworldly spirituality, rumored to hold the key to unlocking the mysteries that ensnared Floyd, her mentor, lost in an inexplicable malady.

Gaela's fingers brushed against the pendant hanging around her neck — a reminder of the urgency that propelled her across the sea. Her steps quickened. The air thickened with ancient energies. The trees seemed to murmur secrets.

Scratch. Scratch. Tap tap tap. Scratch.

Seated on his own in a smaller corner of the vessel below deck, the crimson-scaled Kobold sat with a handful of tools laid out on the ground before him. In his claws was a thin, wooden stick; a stem of what would soon be his final creation before he arrived at this so-called village of healing. The stick was raised up to his long snout, turning it over in his claws to give it a thorough examination. Content with what he was looking at, he opened his mouth, a small breath escaping his maw to wash over the wooden tool to ensure that there was no leftover debris. He then raised the tool he held in his left claw, ready to begin carving in the notches that would soon become the fletching and the nock.

This is how the small lizard man had spent the entire trip thus far. The moment he had stepped foot on the boat to his destination, he had gone to work immediately. His first course of action had been to maintain a low profile as he stepped around the ship, eyeing up the other passengers. He even snuck into some of the crew-only sections of the ship to make certain that he wasn't going to find what he was looking for. He had doubted it the whole time, of course, but one could never be too careful with this kind of thing. He had long-since figured out that anybody could be anything.

Once he'd found himself a nice, out of the way corner of the ship below the deck where he was confident he would be left largely to his own devices, he had sprawled out his various woodworking tools and gone to work. There was a small porthole window nearby, so he could keep an eye on the time while he whittled his time away crafting more ammunition for himself. He didn't trust reputations alone, so he wanted to make sure he was prepared if something happened in this strange town he called his destination.

And with what he was hoping to find, he wouldn't be surprised if something did.

Upon finishing his final arrow, he looked up, noting that the light was already beginning to fade from the window, the bright blue of the sky beginning to shift into a more orange hue, while the brighter blues began to darken. According to the crew, they would be arriving at the town by sundown, so in all likelihood, they were going to be pulling into a dock soon. Tucking his new creation into the quiver he'd laid to rest beside him, he began to gather all of his tools and put them back into the bag where they belonged.

Taking a deep breath, the Kobold stood himself up and made his way back to the surface, just in time to witness the town ahead, nestled up against the shores. Ranshelm, the town of healing.

A refuge of healing, where diseases fade.

He couldn't imagine this description referring to anywhere but here. Which meant that this was the best place to start looking. Saur took a deep breath as he readied himself. He had no idea what was to come, but he felt himself adequately prepared for his hunt.

Saur's verdant gaze eyed the shore as it drew ever closer, waiting until, finally, the vessel came to a halt and a plank was laid out, allowing the passengers to disembark. He was among the first to step across the wood, eager to get to work before the sun disappeared completely. However, as his clawed feet tapped against the wooden dock, he realized that he was not the first one to have left the confines.

The sight of this other figure gave Saur pause. What else could he do? In all of his time, he had never once seen somebody quite like this one. Cloudlike, pure white hair dancing around their head in the wind. But, wait...was it just him? For a brief moment, he could have sworn that it billowed in a different direction from the gentle breeze he himself was feeling...? He watched her for a brief moment out of curiosity, but it seemed that this figure seemed content to simply stand there along the dock and drift her own gaze toward the distant wood.

The red lizard soon caught himself staring and shook his head. Gah, what the hell was he doing...? He had something he needed to do, he shouldn't just stand there, gawking at other strange passengers. He had information to gather.

And so, he began to step forward again. If the strange, airy figure stayed where she was, he would continue past her, doing what he could to fight his curiosity and avoid looking back up at this figure, headed straight for the town proper. He knew what his first destination was going to be: a village tavern or inn, or a mix of the two. That tended to be where information gathered, after all. He just had to find the place first....

The dock stretched out before Galea, its wooden planks weathered and worn, echoing with the solitary footfalls of travelers. As she gazed out over the expanse of water, a flash of crimson caught her eye—a lone figure moving with purpose along the pier. The red kobold, Saur, passed her by, his presence a fleeting shadow against the backdrop of the sea.

Undeterred, Galea continued her own journey, her steps aligning with the rhythmic cadence of the waves. The village loomed ahead, its silhouette stark against the fading light of day. Saur pressed on, his path unwavering, drawn by an invisible thread toward the heart of the village.

Galea trailed behind. The cobblestone streets stretched out before her, winding through the village's labyrinthine alleys. Yet, despite the distance between them, Saur seemed to perceive her presence, his pace quickening ever so slightly as he forged ahead. A wry smile played on Galea's lips as she fell in step with him, the shared anticipation of an unknown destination lingering between them like a shroud of mystery. Both sought solace in a tavern—a refuge from the chill of uncertainty, each a solitary traveler in search of a place for the night.

It was Saur who reached the village's center first, his keen eyes scanning the bustling streets for any sign of their intended sanctuary. Galea stood just behind him, her gaze fixed on a looming structure that rose like a beacon against the night sky. In the common tongue, its name was emblazoned upon a wooden sign—a symbol of welcome and shelter for weary travelers. "Serenity Retreat: Inn, Bar and Restaurant."

The cobblestone streets of Ranshelm reverberated with the distant sounds of a lively party, a vibrant melody of laughter and music dancing through the air. The tantalizing strains hinted at a celebration unfolding some streets ahead, an unseen festival casting its spirited glow upon the night. Two strangers stood at the inn's threshold, the enticing sounds of the distant party weaving between them. Unfamiliar, yet drawn by the same symphony, they faced a choice — remain on the cusp of the unknown or step together int the unseen festivities that awaited.

Nathaniel Rainwater

Nathaniel Rainwater spent most of the voyage at the bow of the ship, looking out across the water to his destination while deep in thought. Ranshelm and the isle it stood upon were both places he had rarely visited, only ever taking the time to sail to those shores when duty called him there.

However, it was not only duty that drew him across the water this time.

For six long years the ever dimming embers of his Aether Soul had laid unmoving, content to slowly fade away as Nathaniel settled into an education and subsequent profession that did not provide the same circumstances under which it had been developed and maintained. But then something stoked them. An errant wind of fate stirred Nathaniel's Aether Soul from its gradual decline and filled his mind with strange dreams that he could recall only scant fragments of when he awoke from them. From those fragments he could remember, Nathaniel pieced together that something was happening on the isle of Tigurasne. Something that the judge was meant to be a part of.

When he arrived at the city of Orbay, Nathaniel wasn't surprised to find official dispatch sending him on a detour to Ranshelm waiting for him at the circuit office. No doubt the work of whatever vortex of coincidence he was caught in providing him a pretext to be where he needed to be. He was even less surprised when he stepped onto the boat and sensed the presence of other Aether Souls aboard the vessel. Of course he wouldn't have been the only one drawn in by what was happening.

When the boat made port at Ranshelm, Nathaniel stepped onto the docks and took in the evening air of the isle. He was glad to be off the boat. And since he had arrived at the end of the day, he would be able to get some rest in before his judicial duties and the true purpose for his presence demanded his full attention.

Nathaniel made his way through the village. Having already been here a few times before, he knew the way between the port and the Serenity Retreat well enough to make it there in good time. But as Nathaniel drew near to his usual place of rest when he was in Ranshelm, the unexpected sound of festivities met his ears. It only took a moment for the judge to decide on a change of course. Rest could wait a little longer. Whatever was going on deeper into the village sounded very much like a good time.

Gaela's weary steps led her towards the heart of the village, where the promise of rest beckoned in the form of the Serenity Retreat. The cobblestone path beneath her boots echoed a soft rhythm, a lullaby for the tired wanderer. As she strolled along the docks, the twilight painted the sky.

Amidst the quiet, a subtle movement caught Gaela's attention. A small dragonoid, adorned with scales that shimmered, walked past her. Their eyes met fleetingly (at least she thought they did), and she offered a friendly wave, though unsure if he noticed. To her surprise, he continued in the same direction as her, their paths aligning. Gaela followed the dragonoid through the labyrinthine streets until they reached the Serenity Retreat. The inn's warm glow spilled onto the cobblestones, welcoming tired souls seeking refuge. The sign, adorned with elegant lettering, proclaimed the establishment as not only an inn but also a bar and restaurant.

Turning to the dragonoid with a smile, Gaela greeted him, "Hello there! Seems like we've both found our way to Serenity Retreat." Her eyes gleamed with curiosity, a spark of connection in the vast unknown. However, before he could respond, a distant melody reached their ears—an unmistakable symphony of laughter, clinking glasses, and lively chatter. Gaela tilted her head, catching the distant sounds. "Do you hear that too?" she asked, her voice filled with the infectious excitement of someone ready to embrace the unexpected.

Being seven-foot-tall and resembling a hulking metal construct, Esnes was more than used to stares. Even in a bustling city like Tarn they had been out of place, so on board a boat headed to an isolated village in the middle of a small island? They were practically a sore thumb. However, they'd never been aboard a boat before, so they were enjoying the experience being out on the deck. They kept to the side of the deck, in a place where they would have a decent view of the ocean but wouldn't have to contend with quite as many people. The less awkward looks and attempts to engage them in conversation they had to deal with, the better. They stared out at the sea, watching as their destination came closer into view. They had tried to imagine what it was like to be experiencing this as a living creature of flesh and bone. Salt air in your lungs. Wind on your face. Had they felt these sensations before at some point, a long time ago? Had they felt these sensations on a boat ride to this exact island in the past? The name Ranshelm seemed vaguely familiar to them, but attempts to conjure forth images of what the village was like or what might have brought them there was lost in a silvery mental haze.

Before Esnes could give this more thought, however, there was a sharp exclamation of "Ack no!" in a familiar voice to their left, and the eidolon slowly turned to see their summoner, Fran, walking past them. While Esnes has remained stationary this whole time so as not to get in anyone's way, Fran had been pacing back and forth behind, her whiskery nose buried in her notes as she was attempting to recreate whatever her mind had just conjured up onto the page. It did not appear to be going well.

"Having trouble?" Esnes said as the ratfolk passed by them once more. Their voice was low, gravelly and to anyone else, would have sounded lacking in compassion or sympathy. However, Fran didn't seem to read it as such.

"Oh, no, it's fine," Fran said with a slight shake of her head, still not looking up from her notes. "Just having a bit of a block, that's all."

"Unsurprising," Esnes responded. "You've been at this nearly the whole trip. Perhaps you should take a rest, or at least switch your focus to something else."

"I'll rest once we reach the inn," Fran said as she quickly scribbled something out she had just written.

"No you won't."

"No, I probably won't," Fran said with a sigh as she finally raised her head from her notes. Given her height, it wasn't as easy for her to look out onto the ocean, and she had to crane her neck just to see above the railing. "Looks like we're nearly there anyway." She closed her notebook and tucked it into her bag. "I suppose I'll get our things."

"Need any help?"

Fran shook her head. "I can manage," she said. "You enjoy the rest of the view. You seemed pretty captivated just now."

Esnes turned their gaze back towards the water. "Captivated? I suppose that's a word for it," they said. "I've noticed people have a tendency to compare the movement of spirits through the Astral Plane to a body of water. I never understood the comparison."

"No?"

Esnes couldn't really shake their head that easily, so they had to sway their body slightly from side to side to communicate their disagreement. "Whatever makes up a mortal soul, it is very different from water. It is light, silvery, more like fog in its consistency, but even this comparison isn't entirely accurate."

Fran waited for a moment, as if expecting the eidolon to continue. After a brief silence, Fran assumed that either their mind had wandered or they simply didn't wish to discuss the subject any further - neither were particularly unusual for Esnes. Even with Fran and her family, they still hadn't quite grasped the fine nuances of conversation... like how to indicate when they were done talking.

"I'll be back in a moment," Fran said. She waited again for any response, verbal or otherwise, but still didn't get one. She then shuffled away to go retrieve the few possessions she had brought with them. She and Esnes regrouped at the dock, where Fran carefully wrapped her tail around the eidolon's forearm so the two wouldn't be separated as got off the boat and made their way into the village of Ranshelm. While the pair had originally been planning to head for the inn, the sound of festivities quickly caught Fran's attention, and the ysoki diverted their path from the inn and towards the celebration. Esnes hesitantly followed. While they were fully capable of pulling Fran back towards their original destination, they had no desire to. After all, they themself did not require sleep or food, and if Fran wasn't in a hurry to obtain either of those things, they had no reason to stop her.

Saur made his way down the streets of Ranshelm, unable to stop one of his claws from fidgeting and running along the edge of the string of the bow slung around his shoulder. While his verdant gaze continued to scan his surroundings, the lingering, pervasive odor of incense and herbs continued to invade his nostrils. While not an unpleasant scent, it didn't agree with him and he initially was having a difficult time keeping his other senses focused.

Eventually, the crimson kobold became distinctly aware that somebody was following him. He shifted his gaze to the side a bit, as though looking toward one of the nearby buildings in order to catch the figure out of the corner of his eye. Hm...it was that strange human he saw at the docks. But they had come from the ship like him. If they'd wanted something of him, they would have found easier success on the ship itself. Besides, nobody who'd be following him would be so obvious if they were an actual concern.

At long last, Saur stopped in front of exactly what he was looking for. The Serenity Retreat, and according to the sign at the front, it was pretty much everything he had been seeking. However, just as he was reaching his claw out, he realized that the sounds around him had changed slightly. No longer was he hearing the bustle of civilians marching about the streets or the grating noise of idle conversations had who were speaking just a bit too loudly. Now he was picking up new sounds; actual music echoed through with the occasional tone of laughter punctuating it here and there. He loosely recognized the sound. He was well aware that the surface dwellers often had these kinds of festivals when there was something to celebrate.

And if there was something to celebrate, it likely meant that much of the population could be found there. Likely more than the tavern, at least.

Just as he had begun to change his plans in his head, he heard something behind him. He turned his head to look back toward the source of the greeting he'd heard, and saw the same strange-looking humanoid from before. He raised a brow, but decided not to comment on what had suddenly jumped to his mind.

He opened his mouth to return at least some kind of greeting, but before he could manage, she had spoken again with quite the abrupt subject change as the music seemed to catch her attention as well.

"...Indeed," he said simply, and at first, he was simply going to leave it at that. However, he supposed it wouldn't kill him to at least show a bit of courtesy to a civilian like her. "I would be lying if I said it didn't pique my curiosity. I am...largely unfamiliar with the customs of Ranshelm, after all. And if it's a large enough gathering...." He paused there, trailing off in thought for a moment.

Finally, the blood-colored kobold looked back at the woman again, nodding his head toward her. "If you'll excuse me," he said before turning his attention back toward the distant, melodic sounds, electing to start toward the source without another word.

Stepping off of the ship, Vaelyn felt herself a stranger, most of all from herself. Ranshelm was as she remembered it, the years had changed little about the small village. Calmness touched her, traveling on gentle winds that drew forth from the ancient forest. Sweet scents reached her with each breath she took. Peace could to little to hide the mournful memories. Her recollections were scattered, shrouded with sorrow. Luisa had been so young. The fabled herbs of the island had not saved her, an unwelcome truth that filled Vaelyn with renewed bitterness. She would offer no forgiveness. It was she who had changed. And perhaps not for the better.

Vaelyn could not name the melody that had drawn her back to the Isle of Tiguarsne. But she could hear it. And she could feel it. Even in the gentle twilight. The ethereal rhythm that played over her heart. The formless tones that danced in front of her eyes. The song had not left her. She could not resist such a mysterious composition, she knew, but she held no such desire. Her friends made no effort to stop her. She had no ties of kinship to ensnare her, none that endured. She had nowhere else to be. One place was as good as any. There were uncountable stages for her to discover. And audiences in numbers that equaled those of the stars shining high above.

She had missed the sea. The salt lingering in the air. The sunshine surrounding the ship. The birds aflight in the distance. The journey had been pleasant, the sea more than kind. Vaelyn had easily mingled with the other passengers. Offering song and music in return for small amounts of coin. She regarded travelers with boundless affection, for they were a reliable source of income. They longed for reminders of some distant home and familiar songs to ease their anxious minds. She did not mind. It was time spent dedicated to her craft, to her instrument and her voice. And it was a chance to spread joy and share pleasure with strangers. With her fingers and heart kept busy, she had spent few nights awake under the moonless skies.

All thoughts of rest and food left her as she heard new sounds. Life and merriment echoed across the village, music playing not far away. The sounds of joy, accompanied by warm lamplight. A smile played over Vaelyn's lips and she caressed the strings of the lute she cradled in her arms. Darkness was no obstacle. Weariness could be easily driven away. Her feelings could be reshaped. And she had no time for the past.

A festival was just the place for a bard. And Vaelyn Silverstrider, bard of bards, had no intention of missing her chance.