Six weeks after the Dance…

Aris Cretu and Elfir sat across the bar table from a pair of dwarven adventurers, representing a larger group of dwarves looking to find a new home away from the oppressive traditions of their forebears. Aris scratched his chin, "Well, I certainly have no problem with you and yours moving in, so long as nobody is breaking the law. I may even have a place where you could start off, unless you really wanted to strike the earth in totally new location. Elfyr, did you and Lord Wavethunder ever figure out what was up with that old temple?"

Elfyr scratched the back of his head, "ehh yes and no. It's clear of danger, and we trashed the traps proper just in case. Research hasn't turned up much aside from the fact that it's older than Althiem. I did get one hit on a name, possibly; Varr Barak."

The dwarf on the left, rejoicing in the name of Igmun Burnside, perked up, "Varr Barak. You are sure?"

Elfyr grinned, "reasonably, why?"

"Would you mind if we took a week or so to look it over, as well as a true copy of the Altheim and Trebor lawbooks? If it is Varr Barak, I think we can strike a deal."

Aris held up a hand, "Before we rush on in, can someone explain to me what Varr Barak is or was?"

The dwarf on the right, one Choren Ironbreaker, tugged at his beard, "oh just one of the richest trade outposts in the old Karaz empire, and its principle naval yard. I'd wager the tunnels run deeper than you know, and the mines'd run deeper still."

Igmun rubbed his palms together, "I'd wager there's some iron and coal left in those mines, and we could get a foregeworks up in a few months, with a true steam-powered steelworks to follow on. Dredge out the bay a bit, and we could get some of those new Westmarch steambarges in. Have to build, or rebuild if we can find it, the old cargo road..."

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Aris held up his hands, "you've convinced me. Lets take that week to make sure we have our facts right, then we can get the industry up and running. Welcome to Trebor."

Three months after the Dance…

Lady Ilelahne SiDabolo leaned on her walking cane as she strolled the stacks of the Trebor Convent's new library. Most of the works on the shelves were books from her personal archive, but the scribes and copyists were working furiously away to produce books to fill the rest of the shelves. The scriptorium was on hold, pending a re-design to incorporate the newfangled printing presses, but that didn't mean that she wasn't eminently satisfied with Chief Librarian Innoch.

Innoch was quite literally working without rest forming the index that would turn this place from a scholar's den to a true library. Without an index the books were just books, and it would take a dedicated scholar weeks of searching to find the tome they wanted. With the index, it was a matter of minutes to find any tome, and even less time to find related works. All Innoch or any other librarian had to do was run a finger down the list of books, sorted by title, author(s) or editor(s), or general subject matter, to find the shelf where the book was located. A few moments of walking later and the book could be found, with other works on the same subject matter in close proximity.

Ormillan Bluehair had been banned from the library proper after an incident involving a pet chipmunk, a blue gemstone, and a touch of wild magic, but he was chasing after a making a magical assistant to help maintain the index automatically. He called his work the Archive Project, and Ilelahne did have to admit that it was showing some signs of progress, even if the developing spirit of intellect did have a borderline unhealthy fascination with works of fiction and romance.

Ilelahne sighed as she settled into a wicker chair with a view of the harbor. She did have to admit that the warmth of the sun felt good here in Altheim, even if she did wish for a bit more breeze during the hotter days of summer. She leaned back and let the distant crash of the sea lull her to sleep.