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Strange things happen this close to the Mournlands. And I'm not just talking about the occasional mutated monster that finds it's way out of the mist and stumbles into "civilized" territory. I'm talking about really weird stuff, like hiccups in time that can last months, even years at a time. And no city gets a bigger share of the weird stuff than Vathirond.
Looking around the town of Vathirond, it's hard to believe the war is over. You recognize the looks in people's eyes as you pass them. It's a look of of learned and practiced despondency. It's too far gone to call desperation. The people are cleary too used to hopelessness to feel desperate. Vathirond suffered during the war, but now, with the war two years gone, its disheartening to see so many downturned faces.
The war was never truly over for Vathirond. The war memorials in place around the center of town attest to those lost to the Last War, whole generations of men winnowed or whittled down; pick whatever metaphor you like for men and women young and old leaving home so they can kill and be killed on some stranger's land. And then the ones that stay behind get killed too, as the sons and daughters of that foreign land send their best and brightest to kill here. The tragedy of Vathirond is that although it paid far more than its share of lives out here on the border of Thrane and Cyre, the peace didn't help them. They are still on the border of the Mournland, and the abberations that crawl and swoop out of that place do not honor the treaty of Thronehold. Small wonder that so many have simply left, taking whatever possessions they could, they've moved south and west, to Starilaskur, or even farther to Wroat of Sharn, leaving whole sections of the town with abandoned houses.
The Brey river winds its way along the north side of town, supplying the town with a livelihood and a means of travel. Fishermen and bargehands ply the river constantly, carrying the large wheat cargos of the local farmers to other parts of Breland. The Lightning Rail also ends here, delivering and shipping those passengers and goods of a more urgent nature. It is more accurate to say that the lightning rail coaches end their trips here, turning at Vathirond and heading either north to Thrane's Aruldusk or west to Starilaskur. The Lightning rail itself continues east into the Mournland, a constant reminder of what once was. That track has been abandoned and closed off, though the conductor stones still glow, as if beckoning the citizens of Vathirond to follow them.
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"Gort."
Gort rolled over, mumbling something incoherent. His head hurt.
"Gort. Wake up."
The voice sounded muted somehow, like it was reaching his ears after traveling through some desolate, fog-laden swamp. Which seemed fitting, given the dream he'd been having. [Scott, please insert brief dream excerpt here.]
The foggy voice began to lap wetly at the edges of Gort's consciousness... and at his... ears?
"Gort! Wake up. It's time to get moving."
He sat upright quickly. Too quickly. His head swam with pain, with half-remembered dreams, and with the awful knowledge of the carnage he had witnessed last night. Toad Killer continued to lick his face excitedly, covering Gort's cheek with a generous quantity of saliva. The dog's breath smelled, if possible, more rank than usual. Strangely, the smell made Gort hungry. How long had he been asleep, anyway? It felt like years.
Turning his head gingerly, and resisting Toad Killer's further affections, he located the source of the voice that had dragged him from his slumber.
"Oh, thank the Gods. You're okay, Cloudwalker said that your wound was superficial, but we were beginning to worry about you."
Kayla kneeled beside him, her hand resting at the edge of the makeshift pallette that lie on the hard gravely soil behind the Toothless Angel. At least that's what Gort had to assume this building was, based on the artwork crudely painted across the side of the two-story structure.
"Sorry. We would have taken you inside, but the proprietor says they have a strict 'No animals' policy." There's an embarrassed sadness in her voice that leaves Gort unsure whether the restriction applies to him, to Toad Killer, or to both.
"You must be starving. Ark's inside, getting us some breakfast. Everybody's gathering outside the Rail Station, or what's left of it. It sounds like that Julian fellow's pretty anxious to get moving, so we've got to hurry."