[right][i]17th Sun's Dawn Daggerfall, High Rock[/i][/right] A methodical tapping, wood on stone, preceded Lywend as he made his way to the harbor. Magical and useful though it was, lately he'd found his staff to be of more use to him as a walking stick than a weapon. He'd spend the last three weeks in and around Daggerfall chasing old wives' tales only to end up finding that the vaunted 'ghostheart' mushroom said to be part of a ritual to return life to the dead was nothing more than a variation of the common white cap mushroom. The alchemist who had examined his findings was familiar with the plant and the superstition, and she was quite sure the plant wouldn't bring so much as a fly back from the dead. The woman had at least paid well for the basketful of a variety of white mushrooms Lywend had spent a couple days gathering from the countryside, so he'd been able to book passage on a ship out the city. Cyrodiil wouldn't have been his first choice of destination, but Anvil was the only destination on offer that he hadn't already scoured in his pursuit of some kernel of truth among folklore and fairy tales so it would have to do. The [i]Kismet[/i] was rather easy to spot along the docks, and he headed for it with no hurry in his step as he carefully navigated the crowded area. While he was no sailor, Lywend had spent enough time on ships in the last decade to appreciate the obvious fact that this one was a fine vessel indeed. If he was lucky, the exterior looks would not turn out to be a facade like the last ship he'd traveled on. He could tolerate rats and unsavory company well enough, but all things considered he would prefer cleanliness and a crew that knew better than to steal from passengers. There was no accounting for the other passengers, of course, and Lywend was already resigned to the need to keep an eye on his belongings at all times. As Lywend climbed aboard, one of the sailors hurried over to help him up with the last few steps of the gangplank. It was an unnecessary helping hand, but the appearance of frailty was clearly a downside of using the staff like a walking stick. Rather than waving the man away, he accepted the assistance and murmured a few words of gratitude before the fellow scampered off to finish whatever he'd been doing with a coil of rope that had been left sitting on the deck. At the very least, that was a good sign as to the temperament of the crew of the [i]Kismet[/i]. Lywend looked round for Captain Ravana, a fellow he had heard much about after asking in the common room of the inn he'd been staying at, but the man was nowhere to be seen. There would be time aplenty to speak to the captain, so he left off his searching and made his way down into the ship to claim a hammock for the voyage. Perhaps he could even get a nice nap in before the [i]Kismet[/i] was due to depart. A quick question to a sailor heading up to the deck got him pointed in the right direction to the passenger quarters, and he left the man with a smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder before going on his way. The simple quest for a place to catch a few minutes of sleep was violently interrupted as Lywend stepped into the passenger quarters. There was a woman present, dark-haired, and he almost spoke a name aloud before he caught himself. [i]Keep your damned wits about you, fool. Of course that's not Birie.[/i] The mental self-admonishment was enough to push him to get a hold of himself and wipe the shock off of his face. That happened sometimes, and it was always jarring. Just the sight of a dark-haired woman could slam him like a cold wind, chilling his thoughts and bones as a little spark of hope flared to life that somehow, against all odds, Birie was actually alive. The sour feeling in the pit of his stomach as that hope curdled into painful memories of failure was never pleasant, and Lywend would have just as soon avoided it if possible. Apparently he was doomed to forever pine for his lost love such that her memory would never leave him. It was a bittersweet feeling, and he reveled in it as he made his way to an apparently unclaimed hammock and busied himself with checking to ensure it was properly secured and putting his weapons and pack underneath it. As he worked, Lywend could hear the unfamiliar woman chattering with someone else, perhaps a sailor. If only his mind had given him a moment to think, there was no way he would have mistaken the woman for Birie. This woman was a cheerful chatterbox, whereas Birie was more reserved and serious in her mannerisms. That stark difference was reassuring: if he kept it in mind, perhaps he would be able to avoid feeling like his heart was jumping up into his throat every time he spotted this stranger on the ship. [i]And when has life ever been kind enough to you to allow such peace of mind?[/i] The bitter thought brought a slight smile to Lywend's face as he settled down onto his chosen hammock. His eyes drifted closed as the swaying of the hammock slowed to match the natural rocking of the ship on water, but Lywend got no rest. Instead his mind was filled with memories coming to the surface unbidden, summoned by that cursed moment of empty hope, and he drifted on that roiling sea of mixed joys and sorrows as he waited for the ship to depart.