<div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/16/cc/26/16cc269e6720222f7ac400e7ad1c5dfd.jpg)<br/><div align="center">Oleg</div></div><div class="floatright"> (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/fd/2a/5e/fd2a5ecaec2ffb68657204bff82fe7c2.jpg)<br/><div align="center">Svetlana</div></div>After everything was in order, the companies were assembled outside the city hall. There was no real pomp or circumstance, save for a short, formal address from the Mayor, followed by each member of the four groups being handed a copy of the charter. Following that, a priest of Abadar gave an address, proclaiming the endeavor blessed by the God of the First Vault. That done, it was simply a matter of leaving hte cobbled lanes of Restov for the muddy roads of the surrounding countryside.<br/><br/>The weather thankfully cleared by morning of the second day. Which was fortuitous because nobody wants to find a giant amphibian in a bog in the pouring rain; it was bad enough as it was! That little diversion took another day off the trip, but eventually, they made it to their destination; Oleg's Trading Post.<br/><br/>The trading post on the southernmost edge of Rostland (and thus Brevoy); most of the land around it is gently rolling hills dotted with stone outcroppings and small stands of trees. To the south stretches the Green Belt, a forest that carpets to the southern horizon. The trading post itself is apparently an old fort, with a weathered stockade surrounding it, each corner with a square watchtower.<br/><br/>The group's approach is greeted by the steady whack, whack, whack of hammering on wood, with the occasional coarsely shouted curse in Skald. Atop the central building, a rather burly man is working away at the cedar shingles. In the central market yard is a woman tending a large pot over a cookfire. At the moment they both seem engrossed in their tasks, and there are no other people about.