The average Sodorian citizen knows little of the world beyond the isle of Allcroft. Despite numerous successful expeditions and accurate cataloging of the world at large, it was impossible for even the most traveled to know of all places.

"How come I've never heard of this San Rousso before? My travels never took me there." --David Aurelian.



A small caravel sat in the frozen waters of the "port" just south of Atas' outer wall. The forest shriveled and shrank from the water's edge, this long winter having cast its hand over the kingdom and grasped tightly. With the foliage gone and standing on the bow of his ship, Pavel easily saw the breaches in the old stones. He frowned at the thought of the town so carelessly guarded. No wonder gangs could do whatever they wanted these days; three-fourths of the wall were manned with only straw dummies. Pavel shook his head at the thought.

The early dawn tried its best to break through the thick mists of the lake, but the world defiantly remained locked in a grey waste. A dozen or so men, wrapped tightly in furs, worked picks into the thick ice which locked the ship in place. Previously this morning, Pavel entrusted his office to his page, a young boy just shy of manhood with a game leg he had hired nearly two years ago. In his absence, the boy would continue to maintain the sparring grounds. While not skilled enough to oversee spars themselves, the boy was sensible enough to call the guard in when drunken riff-raff came around trying to pick fights. Pavel smiled to himself and stepped down to the main deck. "Breakthrough!" he cried out, and his men, with laughter, shifted their tactics of ice breaking. "I want to leave as soon as Sanza returns."

Not after long, an otter-man broke through the surface of the water, where the ice was thin. He wore dark oilskins—not that the water bothered him, the but cold—all across his body, obscuring his features, but Pavel knew him well; Sanza, an old friend of the sort you keep your eyes on when valuables are around, and never made any sudden motions toward.

"Hail!" Pavel cried out from the bow of the caravel. Sanza easily climbed the rigging and soon stood beside the stout mouse, himself being tall and thin. Sanza gave a salute of sorts (after a fashion) as the ship creaked and the ice below gave way. There came shouting from below and the twelve mice fellows working with picks scrambled, not so easily, up onto the deck to man the sails now that they were free.

"It's as you said," spoke Sanza with his chirping sing-song voice. "The bandits we've been tracking are moving north, away from the city. Trying to find easier game along the roads there, I'd judge."

Pavel hummed, deep in his throat, at the thought. "I hate that we can't just wipe them all out for once and all, but at least the city might see a little peace in the future." The main sail unfurled at a call from one of the helmsmen, and it at once caught a powerful breeze. Slowly, the caravel shifted foward and into the stronger currents of the river.

He didn't turn around to watch the city grow smaller behind them.