[@Marcus XVI]

Carver heard fingers snap and saw the glass he smashed rebuild itself. [color=c4df9b][i]I wish I could do that. Although, what good could it do me. It wouldn't put the drink back in the bottle.[/i][/color] He got up and started towards the bookshelf the bar maiden had pointed at, wobbling a little in his mildly-hungover mildly-drunken state. On the way there, he just barely noticed a funny-nosed fellow perhaps around his age, in embroidered black clothes that must have cost a fortune. He also caught an immediately-forgotten glimpse of impressive shuffling, done by hands he failed to assign to a body.

The large, reddish-brown wooden bookshelf was decorated with subtle ornate carvings. Its four shelves were stocked with dull-coloured books in an assortment of heights and thicknesses. Carver turned his head sideways to try and read the silver, gold, or black print on the books' spines. Only a few were in his language; most of them were in languages he may or may not have recognized, and certainly could not read. He wasn't in the mood to skim through every single book in search of a useful map. He decided he would just ask someone.

Carver looked around and saw that the expensively-clothed man wasn't preoccupied. He walked over to the man's table, noticing a pair of tiny little horns just visible above his black hair. [color=8dc73f]"Hi. I'm Carver. Do you know how to get to Maple Falls?"[/color]