The storm had been raging for nearly three days now. It wasn’t often that the sea swept this far inland, but it was licking at the outskirts of town now, and as many men as could be spared were even now piling up rack and sand around the southern half of the town. Hopefully that would buy them enough time to last out the storm. If not, then Blackvale would surely be inundated by the storm. The mayor stood by, worriedly watching the work. His thoughts though weren’t on the barrier being erected. This was what? Three storms in the past month? And each one worst than the last. He’d hoped that the last ship that had berthed in the harbor could have given him some answers, but no his surprise, the captain of the Crest reported that they’d not run into any foul weather ever since they’d passed Stilbourne. How could that be? Where were these storms coming from? He turned his back on the frothing surf and headed up the path, back to town. He’d have to find someone that knew. Or at the very least, someone that could find out.
((Did you come in on the Crest? If so, from where? Were you a rare overland traveller, perhaps come in with the sled pack? Or were you born and raised in Blackvale?))