The Merryweather is securely tied down at the base of a rocky cliff, having been moved there upon landing to shelter it at least somewhat from the fierce winds that accompany the freak storms that can arise with little to no warning in these parts, especially right next to the sea.

The captain and namesake of the ship oversees the unloading of the cargo brought in from the last stop, accompanied by a couple of Sylvanian businessmen – a Korv and a Human – who watch with detached-looking patience. Several crewmembers who haven't been pressed into moving cargo sit around and waste time on the beach, or muddle around until a few start meandering their way up to visit the village.

A spotted cub can occasionally be seen dashing up and down the shore, flailing his arms wildly, and chasing seabirds … who flutter into the air with calls of alarm, circle about, then stubbornly settle back down again in another spot, until the cub comes running their way again. The cheetah seems to have no end to his energy, though occasionally he'll trip over a shell or something else interesting in the sand, and stop to investigate, giving the seabirds a short reprieve as they scavenge on the shoreline.

A gray rat marches back and forth among the boxes of cargo, absently puffing on a pipe. She tries to keep an eye on the cub just in case someone might decide to run off with him or smack him for no reason, but she keeps her ears perked for any words of useful gossip as well.

A white Skreek with a patch over one eye waddles down from the path leading to the village. No doubt he was one of the first to bolt from the ship at first opportunity, just in case he might be asked to carry something.

Whitehead waves to the gray rat. "Hey! Great place here. Not as nice as some places, but not as bad as others." Small-talk isn't his usual mode of operation with the other Skreek, unless there's something he wants. He might have found a pub … and also found his purse to be empty … more likely than not.

Willow takes a deep drag from her pipe and blows a puff of smoke in the direction of Whitehead. "Hoy there. Anything interesting going on in the town that's worth checking out? Besides gardening, I mean."

Whitehead ponders this, then starts counting off on his fingers – or, at least, randomly plucking fingers for effect. Who can say if he can even count? "Good grub, if you like fish, for sure. Nothing in the way of ill repute, sorry to say. But doesn't look like a high chance of getting stabbed inna back, neither. Oh yeah, and there's this really great pub."

"Pub, right." The gray rat pauses for a moment to spit in the bowl of her pipe to snuff the embers of tobacco inside before tamping it against her foot. Probably not a good idea to catch the place ablaze accidentally, even if she is just here for the day. "What makes it so great?"

Morning-Mist, Willow's Cervani friend from Bakanal, comes down the gangplank … but as soon as she catches sight of a white Skreek, she casually changes course, and heads over to … dust the crates off, out of line of sight of Whitehead.

Whitehead grins. "Sylvanians really know how to make ale! I figure it's because this is such a rotten place, they can't help but to learn how to ferment things better! BAW HAW HAW!" He breaks into overly enthusiastic laughter at his own joke, in vain hopes of causing a chain reaction. So far, it doesn't seem to be working on any passing crewmen, despite his looking in their direction as they pass.

"I've not had good ale in awhile – something to consider." Willow rubs her chin as she crushes the bits of smoldering tobacco under her shoe. "Do the people in there seem neighborly?"

Whitehead nods, confirming, "While it's daylight out. But I hear tell in Sylvania, lots of creepy things go about at night, so if you want any hospitality, you'd best be inside before the sun dips low."

In a lower voice, Whitehead adds, putting up one paw to cover his muzzle as he glances furtively about, "And the folks seem a mite bit superstitious, too. Careful you don't do anything too curious. Someone might take it as a bad omen."

Willow smirks and nods. "I'll make a point of watching it. Thanks for the advice, Whitey. Now you'd best help with the boxes before Cap docks your pay."

Whitehead's whiskers quiver … He glances over, looking as if he might be so brazen as to make a bolt for cover … but, as fate would have it, Captain Merryweather happens to be looking this way. The Skreek's shoulders slump, and he lets out an exaggerated, put-upon sigh, as he waddles up to the gangplank.

Almost as soon as the white Skreek is heading off, a doe walks up next to Willow. "Good morning!" she greets in a cheery voice.

The remaining rat rolls her eyes a bit as her one-eyed companion leaves. The sound of Morning-Mist's happy tone warms her a bit. "And good morning to you. What do you think of Sylvania? Does an awful thing to the fur if you ask me. All this wetness makes me feel soggy; it's a wonder algae doesn't grow in the natives' fur."

"Are you quite sure it doesn't?" Morning-Mist asks, looking perfectly innocent, and then her muzzle segues into a smile again. "Really, I find it pleasantly cool. Although I rather hate to think what it would be like here in winter." She takes a few steps in the direction of the shore, her hooves kicking up tiny sprays of sand in her wake. She closes her eyes, lifts her muzzle, and breathes in deeply. "It's a nice change, I think. But we shan't be staying here long regardless."

"I think I'm going to mosey into town while I have the chance. Do you wanna come with me, or stay here and make sure Thorn doesn't choke on a seashell or a gull while he plays?" Willow winks, dusting some sand off the fabric of her vest.

Morning-Mist giggles, putting a hand over her muzzle to cover her mouth, then keeps it there as she considers. "Well, I wouldn't want to be negligent, but I do hope Thorn has sense not to find any trouble on his own. Besides, there are plenty here to watch him. I wouldn't mind seeing the town, myself. I still haven't seen enough of the world to satisfy my curiosity just yet."

The doe turns about to point at the tower up on the cliff. "For instance, I've never seen anything quite like that before. Are those common?"

"Only around oceans. They keep boats from crashing into cliffsides." The rat pats her pockets down, counting out her few coins. "Well, Whitey said that there was a nice pub in town and I'd like to check it out. You hear the most interesting gossip sometimes. Care to tag along?"

"Certainly!" replies the doe, a little more eagerly than she probably intended. She says, in a more restrained tone of voice, "But I'll make sure to get back here in time to do some wash, while we're landed."

Of course, it doesn't take nearly so long to do the wash anymore, since most of what little Willow had is still back in Bakanal somewhere.

"On our way then. Let's get going." The rat spins on her heel and tucks her pipe away in her pouch. She starts down the path in the direction Whitehead came from.

The morning fog is already clearing up, and it's thinner the higher one gets up and away from the shore. Though there are a few traces of mist in the air by the time the rat and the doe make it into the village, the morning sun is driving most of it away. The plants along the pebble street are heavy with dew, and the townsfolk are going about their morning business. A wide-bellied, mustachioed human – perhaps middle-aged – stands on the porch of a building that probably serves as both shop and home, judging by the curtains visible in the windows on the upper level. The buildings here are nice enough to sport windows of glass rather than polished horn – or open sills – which wouldn't be an oddity in Rephidim, but is still of note on the surface in anything short of a city.

He wears a large apron (appropriate to his frame) that has a few spots of flour on it – which he eventually notices, brushing them off. He smiles and waves to the two visitors. "Gut morning!"

"Sylvania sometimes is associated with monsters and zombies, but most of it is legend." Willow whispers to her companion. She flashes her best tourist's smile and waves to the human, "Morning!"

The doe's ears perk, and she waves to the human as well. "Morning!" She looks about. The style of the houses isn't all that far removed from those in some sections of Rephidim. In fact, some of the buildings in the more upscale sections look like they might borrow a bit from the styles here … just built with better materials – and quite likely better technology, too.

The rat whistles to herself. "But obviously the zombies can't afford to live here by the looks of things. I guess this city must have a nice trade economy; hopefully that doesn't mean it's too expensive to get a drink."

There is a mix of races to be found here, but so far it looks like it's a bit more limited than Rephidim. Humans are far more common than in Rephidim, to be sure, and Korvs are about as common here – accented by the number of houses modified to have upper-level entry-ways. There don't seem to be any fliers about save for the Korvs, though, out and about. A few of the "flier" houses are shuttered up, however, possibly indicating the presence of a nocturnal race as well. The rest of the population seems to be made up of horse-like Rhians, deer-like Cervanis, and the feline Khattas.

Looking slightly out of place alongside the way is a wagon that was once painted blue with golden stars spangling the sides. Once, that is, since the paint is faded badly, and peeling here and there – especially from the stars. A sign in elaborate script can barely be deciphered as reading, "Madame Xanadu – Knows All, Tells All". Some chimes hang from a door on the back of the wagon. Although there are a couple of long poles extending from the front of the wagon, there's no sign of any sort of harness or a team to pull the wagon.

Willow nods and gives her good-mornings to those that offer them as she makes her way to the pub. At the sight of the wagon, the rat pauses. "Hey… a fortune teller. Want to get your fortune read, Misty?"

The doe looks uncertain. "I thought I overhead Whitehead saying something about the locals being superstitious? Wouldn't that seem … curious?"

A big, simple-looking spotted Appaloosa Rhian walks around the wagon. He leans against it, and it tilts to one side under his weight. It doesn't look like he could fit inside very easily. This minor disturbance prompts some cawing noises from inside.

"Maybe… but I figure that if a fortune teller was a bad omen or such they probably would have driven her out of town." Willow itches at one of the black marks under her eye. "Maybe it only matters if you get a bad fortune? And hey, if anyone asks, we just needed to get directions to the pub."

"*KAW!* BRUNO! Zhtoppit! Zhtoppit! Bruno zhould not lean on ze vagon!" A broomstick pokes out of a curtained window in the side of the wagon, and begins flailing about, occasionally hitting the horse. He doesn't seem to be in the least bit affected at first … until something slowly dawns on him, and he leans forward, letting the wagon rest on all four wheels again.

The doe nods. "All right. It's just that witches were considered a bad omen back where I come from… "

"… Driven her out of town if they weren't afraid to tangle with her horsie, that is." Willow smirks. She flips a shekel in the air and heads towards the wagon. "Tell you what, I'll get my fortune told first and if you'd rather not you don't have to. After what happened back on… home… I'd like to find out if the exciting part of my life is over."

The doe nods her head, and follows distinctly behind Willow, saying nothing more on the matter just yet.

The rat reaches out and raps on the edging of that window that the broomstick handle emerged from. "Hey in there!"

As Bruno looks down at the twosome, he pauses, looking deeply in thought … and then he at last comes to a conclusion, and pounds on the side of the wagon with his meaty fist. This prompts another squawk, and the broom handle materializes again … but so does a beak, and just the barest glimpse of a dark glittering eye and a dangling hoop earring (not that birds have any ears to attach them to). "*KAW!* Kuzhtomers!" There is some minor commotion inside the wagon, and then the door in the back pops open, revealing a black crow-like Korv in a blue dress, with a big bandanna about her head, from which dangle two enormous hoop earrings with no visible means of support (aside from the headband, that is).

The rat ducks just in case the handle might come zipping out towards her head. Once she's fairly certain it's not, she rises back up a little. "Hi there. Mind if we come in? I've not had my fortune told in awhile."

The Korv bobs her head. "Ya! Eez only vun shekel to haff zhur fortune told. Eez cheap, ya?"

The crow pauses a moment, then adds, "EACH."

The doe blinks. "Oh! I'm just watching, thank you."

"Sounds interesting. You have any other services?" Willow glances back over her shoulder. "Hey, Misty… make sure nobody in town is watching, just in case. I'm going to sneak in and see what fate has in store for me."

The doe smiles conspiratorially. "Certainly!" She walks over to stand next to the big horse … making herself look positively dwarfed by comparison.

Grinning, the rat sneaks around behind the cart. "Okay, I'm game. How do I get in?"

"Ya, ya!" says the crow, ushering the Skreek in with a wing-claw. "Madame Xanadu knows all, tells all … and makes many fabulous pozhuns for zhu, too! Many vunderful zhings from afar! Myzhteriez of ze unknown … cheap!"

"I'll go to the pub for potions," Willow squeaks as she hops through the opening. "Alrighty then, tell me my fortune." She fishes out a shekel from her pocket.

The door to the wagon creaks shut, closing with a loud and final snap, as Madame Xanadu hops up on the table and then down the other side, settling herself in behind the crystal ball. She looks as if she might be gazing into the ball … but then reaches forward and rubs a speck of dust off of it with a wingtip. She then proceeds to dig around in a trunk, and pull out a deck of cards.

"Zhur fate zhall be told by ze cards! Zhur past, zhur present … and zhur future!" the crow intones mysteriously.

Willow takes a seat opposite the Korv. "We'll see. Any reason why your readings are so cheap? Just want to share your gift with the world, perhaps?"

Madame Xanadu says, "Ah, ze cards are ze bargain forzhun. For ze cryzhtal ball … eet eez vun tenner." She holds out her wing-claw for the coin.

"Tell you what… " The rat fishes out a tenner coin and a single shekel. "If the cards impress me enough, I'll go with the ball next." And with that she drops the single shekel piece in the Madame's outstretched hand.

Madame Xanadu's eyes glitter at the sight of the tenner … Not that a ten-shekel piece should inspire great thoughts in the mind of anyone, but there it is. She shuffles the card deck, murmur-cawing to herself oddly as she does so.

The rat's fingers curl around the ten shekel coin as she leans back in her chair, eyeing the cards as they're laid out.

A light breeze plays through the curtained window, momentarily combating the hanging odors of incense and herbs with the fresher smells of flowers and fresh-baked bread, and the Vykarin Sea. The bead curtain and several hanging talismans and trinkets jangle lightly but dischordantly, then settle down again, as the crow starts slapping cards down on the table.

Madame Xanadu murmurs, "The past," and slaps down three cards to the left. They seem to be common playing cards, only with more fancy designs on the faces and backs … and quite well-worn from age. The first card is the Ten of Coins.

The second card, however, is the Beast … and it resembles a wicked-looking creature indeed – a bestial humanoid with a head that resembles that of a goat, with reddish skin, and baleful green eyes. The Korv frowns slightly. And then the last card in this threesome is set down. Dagh – a shadowy figure rendered in silhouette, with wickedly barbed ornamentation that looks as lethal as the wearer is supposed to be in popular myth.

Foxfire's eyes flick down at the cards, narrow slightly and then flick back up to the Korv. "And this means?"

Madame Xanadu clacks her beak, then says, "Madame Xanadu eez not done yet. Here is ze present." She slaps down three more cards.

The rat lets out a small sigh of relief, having momentarily feared that each of the three first cards had represented her entire fortune. She looks back down at the table and the cards.

The first is Arcadia – represented by a benevolent-looking female Khatta (the species varies, depending on who made the deck), surrounded by friendly-looking forest creatures, and lush foliage. She appears to be applying a salve to the leg of a four-legged creature that looks like a bestial version of a Cervani … probably a "deer", as Sylvania is said to have bestial versions of most of the major sapient races of Sinai in it.

The second card is Sinai – an ethereal, wispy being, dancing or skipping, and looking far more pleasant than anything in the first threesome of cards. And then, the last card is the Ace of Staves, decorated with a single staff on its front.

The rat arches an eyebrow at this, but remains silent for now. ( This one seems more plesant at the very least. )

The last threesome starts off with the Three of Swords – decorated appropriately enough – then the Ace of Cups – decorated with a chalice – and lastly … Dagh.

The Korv lets out a cry of alarm! "*KAW! Zhere eez only vun Dagh in ze card deck! Zomevun hess tampered vith Madame Xanadu's deck!" She reaches out to start scooping the cards back up.

Willow reaches out and puts her hands on the Korv's wing-claws as she tries to keep the cards from getting scattered around too much. "What does it mean?""

The Korv pauses. "Vell … eet eez tampered vith. Eet cannot be zhur real forzhun, seence somevun hast interfered… " She looks back at the cards. "But Madame Xanadu tell zhu vat it vould be, eef zees vas true… " She gulps, and points at the "Past" deck.

"Go on… " The rat's tail lashes back and forth, jangling a few low-hanging talismans.

She closes her eyes, squinting. "Ah … zhu … zhu run into very bad enemy. Very evil enemy. But … zhu bribe heem to go avay by paying heem many zhekels?" She opens one eye, looking warily at the Skreek.

"Something like that." Foxfire agrees warily. "And the rest of it?"

The gypsy Korv points at the middle deck. "Arcadia eez ze healer. Zat means zhu are a very … " She pauses, as if sizing the Skreek up, then continues, "… givink and vriendly perzhon." She points at the card of Sinai, and says, more confidently. "However, zhu are flighty, tending to not zhtay in one place vor very long." She points to the Ace of Staves. "And … zhu travel a lot!" Of course, given the lack of Skreeks in these parts, that could just be a lucky guess…

Willow can't help but try to suppress a chuckle. "Giving and friendly, right. And my future?"

Lastly, the Korv points to the third deck. "And in ze future … vell … as Madame Xanadu hess zaid, eet eez tainted … but … " She ponders, then points to the Three of Swords. "Conflict in zhur future." She points to the Ace of Cups. "And zhervitude." She then points to Dagh. "And an enemy. But remember … zhees deck is tampered… zo… " As she taps on the card of Dagh, some blackened flakes scatter off of the surface.

The Korv lets out a caw of alarm. A bit of the black has flaked off. It appears it wasn't a card of Dagh after all … just a smudge of soot. Perhaps it's the bad lighting.

Foxfire rubs her finger across the card, smeaking away some of the grime. "So what card is it really?" She sniffs at the soot on her finger, trying to place its source.

"Ze Zhtranger," says the crow, clearing off the now-legible title. "Eet means eizher zat zhu vill meet a zhtranger zoon in zhur life … or eet means zat zhur future eez unzhertain and clouded."

The soot has a disagreeable odor to it. It smells faintly of sulphur … though the soot looks nothing like sulphur, of course. It's not merely dust or ordinary dirt, however.

Willow shakes her head at a disagreeable memory and flips the card of the goat-headed monster over so she doesn't have to look at it. "All right… so can the crystal ball tell me things about my future that the cards can't?"

Madame Xanadu gathers up the cards again. "Zertainly! Madame Xanadu veel look eento ze fuzhure! For only teen zhekels."

The rat flicks the wire shekel at the Korv, "All right then, here's the shiny. Tell me about this stranger."

"Zhe zhtranger? Ah! Madame Xanadu zhall focus on ze zhtranger, zen… " She puts the tenner somewhere in the folds of her dress, then leans over the crystal ball, murmuring to herself and occasionally cawing softly as she focuses on the cloudy-looking orb. The candle-light makes interesting effects as it flickers and reflects and refracts on and through the glass of the ball, making it seem as if there are actually cloudy forms dancing through it, and occasional vague shapes flitting about.

"Knowing more about that conflict might be nice as well… so I'll know if I need to carry an extra dagger in my bag or not." Willow squints into the crystal.

"Zhhhh!" shushes the raven, and then she goes quiet, tilting her head one way and then the other. "Madame Xanadu hears voices … zey zhay … a riddle … "

The crow shudders again, closes her eyes, clacks her beak a couple of times, then says. "No … no… " She shakes her head, then opens her eyes, and jerks away from the crystal ball. "*kaw! Bad karma!"

"WHAT? Enough of your theatrics… If you heard something, I want to hear about it." Willow's fur bristles.

The crow digs through the folds of cloth, and pulls out the wire-rimmed coin. "Here. Madame Xanadu geevs zhu zhur coin back. Zhu haff … bad karma about zhu. Very bad karma. Zhur fuzhur eez not clear. Zhu vould not like eet."

"Shove the coin. I paid you for something and I expect to know what it is!" The rat pushes the Korv's hand back. "Tell me this riddle."

The Korv clacks her beak a few times, then pockets the tenner again. She clears her throat, then recites:

"Turn eet beck, zhtepping by four,"

"But nezht Dagh adds een four more."

"Zo don't zhu forget,"

"Ze whole Alefbet,"

"Vor old Dagh ees keeping ze zhcore!"

The Korv pauses a bit, then adds, "Ze voices vere not clear. Zees ees vat I zheenk zey zhaid. Zey may heff zaid zomezhink deeffeereent … but zeemeelar."

"You were afraid of a nursery rhyme?" The rat shakes her head, although she's still a bit nervous despite her attempts to conceal it. "Any idea what the blazes it all means?"

The Korv clacks her beak, then says, "No. Madame Xanadu ees not zhure. Mezheenks eet ees about ze fuzhure … zo zhu probably do not heff ze informazhun zhu need to mekk any zeense out of eet yet."

The Korv then adds, "Eet ees a reeddle. Zat ees for zhure."

"So where can I find it? Or will it come along to me?" Willow's tail flicks back and forth again. She eyes the crystal ball. "So much for clarity."

The Korv ponders this, then says, "Eet ees likely to come to zhu. But zee fuzhure ees not unzhangeable. And zees zhays nozhink clear about zhur ultimate fate."

"So much for hoping I was going to be the richest rat in the world." Willow shakes her head. "Well, I guess I'll be going now. Anything in my future about danger in visiting a pub?"

"Ah! Nozhink at all! Ze pubs here ees safe!" Madame Xanadu says, with a head-bob.

The rat shrugs and pushes the door open. "Right. Thanks… I suppose." And with that she steps back outside, plastering a smile on her face and trying to make herself look somewhat less than having just been run over by the Rhian standing outside. "Heya, Misty. I'm all done."

Morning-Mist turns away from apparently having been talking the Rhian's ear off … though given how he looks like he's half-awake, and his mouth is closed as he chews on a piece of straw, it's doubtful that he had much to contribute to the exchange. "Oh! How did it go?"

"Peh… just some party-magic. Nothing impressive. How about we go and get some brekky at that pub?" The rat pats her stomach, although she doesn't really feel all that hungry at the moment.

The doe looks momentarily concerned, then shakes away any worries, and smiles, practically skipping along. "Let's!" She turns to wave at the Rhian. "Bye-bye!"

Bruno snorts, and raises one hand to make a half-hearted wave in return. It could just be the imagination, but his ears look slightly pinker than they did earlier.

As Willow walks away, she ponders the soot on her fingertip and carefully licks off a daub of it as she tries to place its origins. The image of the Dagh card sticks in her head as she hurries herself along, intending to forget as much as she can in a few mugs of ale.