[color=a7a7a7][h3]The Café at the End of the World[/h3][hr]
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Past the white illusions of the Desert of Glass -- past the ancient terrors lurking in the old Kings' Mountains, their passages narrow and looming -- lay the puddles and slime of the Sinkbone Marshes.

Everything here was soggy. The ground squelched underfoot; the weeds grew in heaps of mush; the stones that jutted out of the dull puddles were slick with grimy goop and bulbous with clinging, blinking fungusbunnies. Swarms of insects buzzed in dark humming droves, and toads creaked and choked. Dead things and jutting bones floated in the craggy water, bloated and dark.

Small and alone among the dank rolls of fog -- on a wide platform secured by ropes to high stones -- floated the [i]Blunderbuss Café[/i].

It was a quaint establishment, whitewashed and pristine, with potted plants on the veranda and freshly painted shutters. Oil lamps hung at the eaves, beckoning weary travelers with their bright sparkle. There was no sign to be seen -- only a polished blunderbuss over the door.

A tall, orange-ish creature stood tethered to the veranda outside the door, lazily chewing cud. Some might recognize the dumb beast as Grom, Kettle's loyal cameldragon steed. Grom occasionally scuffed a foot or snapped at a passing mosquito, but otherwise had no reaction to even the most alarming distractions.

Inside the café was bright and cheery and smelled like fresh tea and cinnamon. Food and hot tea had been set out on the tables as if a party were expected -- but the room was entirely empty, save for one.

Kettle sat at a little table at the center of the room, sipping tea and occasionally nibbling on blueberry crumpets, an old copy of a local newspaper folded in her hand. She wore most unusual traveling robes -- purplish layers of pockets and seams and hoods and scarves -- that were a gift from a tribe of Cliffside Northmen. She was older, now, than anyone might remember her, even those that knew her not so long ago. There was a silvery glimmer in her coarse brown hair, lines at the corners of her curious eyes, and a thinness of her mouth that spoke of deep troubles.

Whenever she heard a sound on the veranda, she lifted her head and checked each window and door with a nervous glance, before she calmed herself with another loud sip of fragrant tea.

But at the sight of a familiar face she would immediately become her exuberant self again -- broad-smiled, wide-armed, standing with a joyful excitement to share her travels and stories with an old friend.
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