As it turned out, fame looked, at first glance, rather ordinary. In the early afternoon light, the town of Beckinsdale looked almost idyllic; there were no signs of damage or calamity, and if anything, the township seemed rather prosperous. Surrounding it were a number of farms, sprawled on the valley's lush and gentle slopes, with rows of orchard-trees visible in the distance. Along the well-worn road into the town proper, other riders and cart-drivers passed by, seemingly in a hurry. Within the borders, the cobble streets were neat and well-cared for, and most of the buildings were made of sturdy blackwood, with a fairly uniform architectural style suggesting either many of them were new or designed by the same person or group. Overall it seemed like a well-organized place, teeming with people as they went about their business. Though no one greeted her, most gave her a passing glance or two. However, the facade of tranquility fell away as she made her way through the market district.

Several stalls, or what was left of them, could be seen, having suffered severe damage. Workers were salvaging what they could of the wood and cloth of one in particular, but it was largely smashed to pieces, as if by something great and heavy being thrown down upon the planks. As well, people were clearly apprehensive of her, sometimes watching her suspiciously or moving out of her way when she approached. A young woman selling apples from a basket started to call to her, then hesitated, turned away and called out to someone else. The whole marketplace had a hushed and uneasy atmosphere unfitting for a place of business. People should have been bartering, advertising their wares, trying to catch the attention of potential buyers, but instead the conversations were hushed, conducted almost as if in secret. Now and again people would pause and look around, as if expecting something.

It was also there that she was finally approached - a boy barely ten or so flagged her down, scampering over and stopping her in spite of the fact that doing so blocked the foot traffic. Though a bit on the skinny side, he wore good clothing and didn't look too scruffy, so more likely than not he was no street urchin. Smiling cheerily up at her, he inquired "New shoes for ya pony, marm? My master's the best blacksmith in this town, and he's got the finest horseshoes ya coin can buy! And he'll put an edge on ya sword enough to scare even the ol' shifting beast!" Pointing off down a side-street, he continued, "Or fix up ya armor, whatever ya need, he's the man for it!"