On This Misham, the 25th Day of Brookgreen,
in the 351st Year After the Cataclysm
(Thursday, March 25, 351 AC)

★The 5th Day of the Campaign - About 8:30ish★

   In answer to your question, Kalasääski screes once and alights from your horse and flies into the twilit sky. As your eye follows his ascent he briefly disappears against the deepening purples and blues before he circles back and begins leading you in the darkness.

   After a half-an-hour or so, along the winding path, you spot a campfire in the distance. Making your way there, you find a camp.

   An old kender woman is sitting on a log. She’s warming her back with a campfire she’s built between her log and the vardo—what we, in the real world, would call a stereotypical Romani (Gypsy) wagon. It’s door is open and you can see various colorful ingredients in glass containers and an alchemy kit.

   Somewhat separated from her wagon is another tent with a cooking fire. A couple other such tents are set up.

   “Welcome,” she greets you with smile. “Have a seat by the fire!” She pats the place next to her. “Nightlund gets so cold and balmy at night. I’m glad that rain let up, earlier.”

   Her eyes travel over Handsome and Kalasääski. “My, what a magnificent steed you ride,” she appraises. “And your bird—you must be a huntress of some calibre! Oh, but your clothes are damp and you must be so chilly. Come, join me by the fire. I was just about to put on a pot for some herbal tea. Won’t you keep an old woman company for a while whilst you dry off? Tell me, huntress, may I have your name? These nights get so boring and seem to drag on forever without good company.” She looks over her shoulder at the other tents in the rather spaced encampment. “We’ve long since stopped spending much time together—We can only hear how Marguerite’s cousin took that tumble in the brambles with Abigaëlle’s niece so many times, and how Chloé’s grandson fought off that Istaran bear—what a load of codswallop if you ask me! Oh, but tell me about yourself! From whence do you hail, my dear? Your fine clothes tell me you must come from a grand city of at least a swollen hundred or three! I can only imagine!”

   The old woman seems to speak a mile a minute, just like a kender would, and you remember from your readings in the Grand Library, that the kender word for “thousand” is “swollen hundred”—well, it had been, perhaps when this old woman had been a wee lass. Kender, these days, are perfectly capable of saying “thousand” like the rest of the people! Maybe they held on to traditions in Goodlund? Well, at the very least, you could inform her, if you were so inclined, that the population of Palanthas numbers at least thirty-two “swollen hundreds”—though you suspect she might not believe you if she thinks that a few thousand is a “grand city”.

   As she meets your eyes, though, her happy demeanor droops. “Oh, dearie, I can see it right in your eyes! Something terrible must have happened. Come, join me by the fire, warm yourself up, and tell old this old Granny, Mélanie Cochonjarret, all about it! Ooh, I’ve just finished making dinner, dearie! Won’t you join me? I always make too much and end up having to take it to the others—it gives me an excuse to chat! You don’t mind if I help myself, now, do you? I’ll scoop you out some, too!”

   The map of the Kalaman region in Maps & Game Information illustrates this area.

   And just in case anyone was wondering, our English word, “thousand” literally comes from Proto-Indo-European *tuh₂sont-, likely from *tuh₂sḱmto-, compounded from a prefix *tuh₂s- (“swollen”, from *tewh₂- “to swell”) and *ḱm̥tóm (“hundred”).