Jomsy scratches at his chin, face full of curiosity and maybe a hint of suspicion, "Information, eh? What's a lad like you wanna know about?"

I glance behind me, unsure if people are listening. Whatever, not like I care too much about subtlety. If anything, trying to grill him in private would be more suspicious. It'd be better to keep my voice down, even so.

"When I left the Inn I bumped into a girl that looked like she were staring off into a whole other world hidden in my chin. Asked Maybell about it, got a bit of background from her, but she didn't go into a whole lotta detail. Call me nosy, if you want, but something 'bout that Iffmy girl's behaviour bothers me. If I can help her while I'm still here in the village, I'd like to do what I can."

The Innkeep chews his bottom lip, shrugging apologetically, "Sorry lad, I don't know much more'n what Maybell likely told you, I weren't there myself, after all..." He pauses, looking off to the ceiling, "But if you're serious about wantin' to cheer the poor lass up, you might check in with her father first. He's mighty protective of his baby girl, y'see."

He gives me a somewhat pointed look.

I nod, a close family member would be a good place to start, "I suppose it'd only be polite. Any idea where I can find them this time of day?"

Jomsy nods, "Like as not he'll be in the forge still. Man doesn't have time for anythin' but work, horses and his daughter. But he'll be there a while, so why don't you cozy up to a bowl of fresh 'ot soup first?"

He winks, apparently having not forgotten the condition I set initially. I sigh, disappointed. For a moment there I could have sworn it slipped his mind when he denied further knowledge of the incident. But a deal's a deal's a deal...

I slap the appropriate coinage onto the table with little ceremony, where they quickly vanish beneath the counter, courtesy of Jomsy's quick hands.

"A pleasure doin' business, lad!" He grins, belly shaking with mirth, before swinging his head back and yelling, "Oi, one bowl of soup!"

When he turns back I meet his jovial smile with a frown, and ask something that's been bothering me since it was brought up by Maybell earlier, "Actually, before that, I got another question for ya."

Jomsy folds his arms, eyebrow raised, "Aye? What's that then?"

I lick my lips, "Didn't think much of it before Maybell mentioned it but apparently, you've been treating me better than most strangers who walk in here. Wondered why."

The Innkeep sighs, "You remind me of someone I used to know about eighteen years back. Correct me if I'm wrong but you're Walther's lad ain'tcha?"

Huh. Visibly confused I affirm it, "Yeah, I am. You know my Da then?"

He nods, "'course. Klennock ain't that far y'know, and he used to be Jaltem Forrester's errand boy. He'd come out here with lumber about once a month before the oak trees started thinning out. Folks from Klennock are good as local, far as I'm concerned. Couple boys from there apprentice here, too."

Guess he knew my maternal grandfather as well. Interesting that he'd bring up oak trees though. Most of the softer woods near the village have been cut down by the villagers for firewood and building repairs. The palisade that surrounds the village now probably accounts for much of what was left of them.

Further north where Klennock Woods becomes the Forest of Beasts, there's a lot of softer wooded trees, but that's easily a week's travel, and - true to the name - it's infested with dangerous animals and monsters, with a fairly infamous Trial Ground somewhere within to boot. Moving the village out there would be suicidal, to say the least, so for better or worse the village is forced to rely on Da, Woody and the travellers that use the village as a last stop on their journey before crossing the border down south into the Santocracy of Suld, a nation of holier-than-thou perfectionists that could put a dwarven master craftsmen's hubris to shame, according to rumour.

That same border is marked by a miles-wide, gods-only-know-how-deep ravine called Herod's Wound. According to the tale, the founder himself is responsible for its creation, rending land and army asunder as he fled the Santocracy northward, with the bridge across coming out nearer Klennock Village than anywhere else.

"Haven't seen him since he came out here with his wife though," Jomsy continues, "Hell, you were probably made in one of our rooms!"

He chuckles, and the involuntary wince I give from his insinuation just encourages him to laugh harder, only interrupted by the appearance of an ashen-skinned man in a splotchy apron with spikes protruding from his shoulders behind me. Huh. Gurn are a rare sight this far north. Nealan's only seen two or three in his life while running with the Loranics. Most that make the trip across two continents are probably merchants headed to Redault or maybe the capital.

Trying not to stare too much, I thank the Cook for the soup and wooden spoon he places on the counter next to me. He smiles politely back at me, nods at his boss and heads back to the kitchen, "Need another barrel of weak ale sent through soon too, as well, love."

I pause mid-scoop, blinking. Love?

"Save the pet names for after closing time, Kalluck," Jomsy calls back, smirking.

He notices my surprise, smiling pleasantly, "My husband. Best cook I ever met, shame Nemmelberries are out of season, his tarts are our biggest sellers in winter."

I relax my expression, "Me Mam makes them too, now that you mention it."

This time, it's Jomsy's turn to be surprised, "Does she now?"

I nod, taking another spoonful of the pleasantly warm soup, "Once a year, on Herod's Respite. Faithteller Morst organises a feast outside the village Shrine every year."

Swallowing a chunk of discoloured vegetable, I continue, "Folks make a big deal out of who can bring the best food, and Mam was always tight-lipped 'bout her recipe. I guess now I know where she got the recipe from. Can't say I'm overly fond of them, myself. Not a big fan of sour food."

Jomsy murmurs understanding, "That'll happen when you don't have any sugar, but I can hardly judge," He shrugs, "Luxuries like that are expensive - but I s'pose don't need to tell you what you already know, eh?"

I nod, "Used to be we had some honey bees in the village. But the apiaries were destroyed in a storm about 12 summers ago, and took Gannimo with them. Folks found her in the morning with a charred hole through her stomach, so the story goes."

Jomsy smiles sadly, "Yep, I remember that storm. Costs us more'n double to stock honey because of that, and the ranch lost a mare. Surprised nobody tried taking over her business."

Shrugging, I slurp more soup, "Nobody knew how. And people old enough to do it have their own trades to pursue, like as not."

Jomsy grunts, "If that fat-arsed King would pay a bit of attention to us out here maybe we'd have the people. Kids around here not involved with the ranch are leaving for the east, one by one 'cos there's not enough for 'em," He squints at me, "Same for you, probably."

Feeling a little guilt, I spread my hands in defeat, "That's part of it, I won't lie. Surprised there's anyone still living out here if I'm honest, but I guess being on Suld's border keeps us all going for the time being."

"True enough."

From there, the conversation peters out into small talk and then silence, until the meal is finished.

Walking out into the street, I stretch my arms out behind my head, yawning contentedly with a full belly. The sun overhead is still bright, but it's obviously a little dimmer overall, as clouds move in.

As before, the village is deathly quiet, save for the squeaking of metal hinges as a stiff breeze pushes the inn's sign out of its way. My destination isn't far, as according to Jomsy, the smithy is just around a corner at the end of the street, and the guy I'm looking for is usually found there around this time of day, making nails or something.

I actually have no idea what farriers do other than shoe horses. I think they make the horseshoes themselves, but I don't know about anything else. That smelly woman from earlier makes saddles and stuff, so maybe she gets the pins and studs from there too?

Stands to reason, I suppose.

I snort, after bringing it up again, now all I can smell is that tanning gunk sticking to my shirt. If you broke a firesnap stick next to her house you'd probably ignite the entire village in the explosion. All-in-all, It's probably a good thing that the forges are on the opposite end of the village, really. There'd be nothing left but a crater, assuming the fumes are even flammable. Which, I don't know if they are to be perfectly honest. I'm probably just making a big deal over nothing.

Rounding the corner, at the far end of a dusty yard, I see a long, stout building made of large, carved stone bricks. The right end of which is open from the overhanging roof held up by multiple pillars of thick timber to a chest high wall that is in turn fitted with a long, continuous trough of hay and water. A pony with a mottled grey coat stands with its head hanging over the barrier to munch at it. The left end, however, is entirely closed off with wide slits in the brickwork to serve as rudimentary windows, and a pair of tall, square chimneys rising through the thatch roof. The surrounding surface of the windows and the rim of those chimneys is stained black by soot, but no smoke is emerging at present, nor can I hear the telltale sounds of hammering.

I frown, chewing on my thumbnail anxiously, "Hopefully he's actually in here then, I don't wanna walk all the way back to Jomsy to ask where this guy lives. I'm still supposed to be on a timer."

However, the inch thick door is open wide, with a large chunk of stone serving as a doorstop, so odds are high someone was here recently and remains nearby, at the very least. I take another look around as I approach, but the only thing of note is that lone horse over there, just minding their own business.

I stick my head in, rapping against the door frame with the back of my knuckles, "Hello? Anyone in 'ere?"

A gruff male voice answers back from behind a shelf packed full of leather bundles on my left, "Aye, who's asking?"

"My name's Nealan, I'm looking for Almecks, the Master Farrier."

A middle-aged man in a dusty leather apron emerges from out of sight, holding a broomstick lightly. He's tall and heavy-set with a bushy black moustache and arms covered in pockmarks and burn scars, "I'm Almecks. What can I do for ya?"

I nod, thanking my luck. Looks like I caught him as he was cleaning up. Deep breaths now, "I'm just passing through from Klennock on my way to Mhin. Bumped into a girl outside Jomsy's place, and she didn't seem all...there. Asked Jomsy if he knew anything about it and he sent me over to see if I can help any."

The important thing is to let him know Jomsy trusts me enough to give me a chance.

Almecks is at first silent, his knuckles on the hand holding the broom whitening. After a moment he speaks up with obvious distrust, "Really, now? What business is it of yours, stranger?"

Facing the glare head-on, I reply, confident in both my innocence and (mostly) good intentions, "Just as I said. Whatever it is that afflicts her bothers me, so I wanna do something about it while I'm still here. Get the feeling that things'll go real bad real fast if I don't step in."

I'll avoid mentioning that I got involved because I got a quest for it. I don't know how much the natives of Eden know about Quests, exactly. Going off Nealan's memories, I reckon there's at least some awareness of the existence of something along those lines when Classes and world-shaping events are involved, but he doesn't really know much beyond that. It could very well be that they do exist for everyone, but as a Player, I get access to the special privilege of being able to 'see' them pop up. Maybe a few people on Eden can also see this, but it's just no common knowledge. Nealan's overall lack of an in-depth education is actually pretty irritating in times like this to be honest - since a lot of the meta details I got back in reality are in that 'censored knowledge' bin along with the lyrics to my favourite songs by Hefferschorn. I'm a little surprised I still remember as much as I do, but for how much longer, who can say?

The farrier closes his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, "Suppose I believe you. What do you get out of stickin' your nose in?"

I shrug, "Experience? Looking to join the Adventure Company when I get to Mhin. If nothing else, I just feel like helping out."

He sighs, "That a fact? Fine, then. So, what do you want from me?"

I suppress the urge to smile, "I'm looking to get your permission to poke around for the cause of my discomfort, and a bit of information on why this is even happening. I talked Maybell into telling me about that farrier that died. She reckons your daughter's just down because of him, but I don't really buy it.

I pause for emphasis, "Something about this whole thing just don't seem natural, is all."

Almecks considers me for what feels like a few minutes, weighing my trustworthiness against his suspicion and protectiveness, then exhales, turning back into the workshop, "Come in. Pull up a stool."