Orwyn was a good merchant. I knew this. I had spent enough time with him from Faraton onwards to see the care he took with each deal he made, each transport detail, each line in his ledger. Still, he found ways to impress me, like how his horxen and cart were actually a delivery for a farmer outside town. He found a way to load a cart with all the goods we would need for traversing the wastelands, transport it all as far as a cart could go before the terrain got too rough, and then get paid for leaving it behind.

  Our packs were heavy after that point. There were no resupply points for the next few weeks of our journey, not even reliably for water, so we each had to carry many gallons of water and food on top of everything else. My legs strained under the weight, but months on the road had strengthened them just enough to not buckle.

  We were saved by Borin and Drifter, both men capable of comfortably carrying significantly more than the rest of us. We loaded up Borin until he strained as much as I did, and we simply ran out of space to do the same with Drifter. He strained not with the weight but with moving comfortably with the various water jugs bouncing around his person.

  The farm where we left the horxen marked the start of what the people of Beornia considered the borderlands. It was still Beornia, technically, but the proximity to the wastelands discouraged people from settling any further south. It wasn't always a problem, but a magic storm would veer north just often enough to make an permanent settlement difficult.

  We hoped it would be an easy enough walk. There were no paths, just grass coming up our shins with the odd mud pit that our boots would stick in. Orwyn would double-check our position at night, using an old-school sextant with the stars to mark our position, making it easy for us to skirt across the northern edge of the borderlands without overshooting the Black Desert. Few beasts roamed the area, and even fewer bandits, so few dangers were likely to chase us down.

  Of course, the region remained unsettled for good reason. On the second day, in the early afternoon, a storm of magical energy veered into our path. Orwyn had us make camp when it came near, but not a full camp. We did not start a fire, or set up our miniature kitchen, or wander off to gather basic supplies. He told us to set up our tents and hunker down.

  He had procured tents much heavier than the ones I would normally use. Instead of canvas they were made of thick leathers made to protect from both the elements and from physical assault. The frame was not the typical construction of thin, hollow, light-weight metals, but a solid A-frame built from steel rods driven into the ground. They were enough weight on their own that Drifter had to carry a huge majority of these rods. Carrying more than a couple of them was too much for even Borin on a cross-country trek like ours.

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  Orwyn warned us not to emerge from our tents until he told us it was safe.

  All of this preparation and warning soon proved its worth. As I sat in the darkness of my tent the sounds of a torrential downpour surrounded me. A magical storm rarely came with rain, however; instead, it picked up whatever debris was in its path, ground it into dust, and then whipped it around at absurd speeds. The storm was more like a tornado, except it was driven by the odd energies of magic rather than atmospheric conditions.

  The importance of the protective tent became evident as the storm progressed. The steel frame shook as large rocks, not yet ground to sand in the middle of the storm, impacted the side of the tent, and I had to duck down as the leather buckled inwards with the force of the debris. The sound was unlike anything I'd heard before, like a swarm of harpies tearing the air apart with their screams. The wind screeched more than it roared, forcing itself through the world in a way that strained my understanding of what "natural" could mean.

  I thought that waiting out the storm would be a simple matter. It would be stressful in a way, as I could hardly be expected to remain perfectly stoic as the world shakes around me, but it was so far beyond my expectations. The screaming winds bore into my skull, causing a pain behind my eyes more extreme than any I'd felt before. Every time the frame of the tent shook I felt my whole world wobble, amplified by the disorientation of the pitch black interior of the tent. I felt ill and in remarkable pain, and this state persisted for hours that felt like lifetimes.

  Eventually I passed out. My nervous system simply gave up, refusing to engage any further with existence. My body preferred to try again later.

  I came to consciousness again that night, lying on a tarp beside a campfire. Beside me was Damien, who had apparently succumbed to the same fate. Drifter and Olivia were sitting near the fire, silent, Drifter by his nature and Olivia because she looked as poorly as I felt. She held a cup of soup between her hands, the remainder of which was being kept warm over the fire.

  The pair of them watched as I sat up. The movement made my head pound, and the world still felt a bit shaky, but it was better than I had felt in the middle of the storm. Drifter leaned forward to grab me a cup and ladle some soup in; I accepted it gratefully. It was a watered down bone broth with some minced root vegetables, perfect for a light recovery meal.

  A few sips of soup restored some energy to me, and I felt inclined to take stock of the situation. "How long was I out? Rather, how long ago did the storm end?"

  Drifter remained silent. Olivia quietly begged him to answer with a a stare, which turned into a glare as he ignored her until she finally realized he was not going to give in. "About four hours ago," she said, "I woke up just as the storm was quieting down. The others were fine."

  I expected no less from Drifter, as he could hardly be considered human most of the time, but Borin and Orwyn's resistance was impressive. "Where are the other two, anyways?"

  "Scavenging. Storm blew stuff in." I nodded. I thought to continue asking questions, learning more about the storm and its impacts and what they hoped to find, but Olivia was looking more pale with each word she spoke.

  I decided to return to my soup and leave her be. There would be time for questions later.