It was late and Blom had nothin’ to do. His life had been rather quiet of late despite Glen bein’ a weirdo and the Autumn Storms blastin’ about and even Crylax comin’ back outta his past to report the terrors from the Frontier. He would have to deal with that one o’ these days but not this day. For this day was a night.

The Catcher’s Moon was obscured by a thick layer of Autumn Clouds so Blom had no light to go by besides his lil’ lantern that he kept above his head. It was a yellowish-orange bulb in the darkness. He had nothin’ to do, nowhere to go. Just one of those nights.

The Storm had abated for the time bein’; they usually settled down when the darkness fell and picked back up again in the mornin’. Just somethin’ about the sorcery of the stuff. He would get to the bottom of these natural phenomena eventually. He knew the Storms began their life high in the Madman’s Mountains, up at the peaks where no livin’ soul could venture without goin’ mad. The sharp rocks and dangerous passes and screamin’ winds deterred all but the most foolish o’ adventurers. And besides, nothin’ was really up there anyway, insofar as he knew.

Enough mappers and travelers had tried to scale the peaks of the Madman’s Mountains and even Glen had gone on a ramblin’ rampage once about figurin’ out what was on the other side of ‘em. Blom would have to ask Glen about that someday, why he was so fixated upon those peaks.

Blom was just thinkin’ about Glen now. Where was that guy? Has he even been around at all? Glen was up to somethin’ and Blom knew it. He was supposed to be co-runner of the Ragged Maiden and he wasn’t even around much! Somethin’ was goin’ on.