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((Open RP to those who are in Galmair and happen upon this lonely, lost figure))

Day after day, endless ocean waves with seafoam spraying from their tops. Some days were becalmed with little to no wind, and some were gut-wrenching gales. Day after day, the tree floated on, carrying its small bundle across the sea, going this way and that where-ever the wind and currents would carry them.

How long has it been since the destruction of Gobaith? The little halfling could not count the days, only the taste of bitter saltwater and fish in his mouth. The occasional stop upon deserted Isles in the Sea of Sirani provided a little fruit and rabbit meat, they were becoming less and less frequent. Now it had been many days since he had even seen an island and fresh water in his stash of coconut shells was running thin.

What was life before this? Well, he had been a merchant, a well-respected 'trader', yet when he tried to enter politics like his father before him, he was falsely accused as a 'traitor', and thrown in prison, never to see the light of day again.

It's good to be out though. When the meteors struck, he could finally see sunlight. He scampered up through the rubble, and ran through the forest of the Westmark toward the Briar, toward home. The sky was dark in those days, full of danger and foreboding. And then the ground began to shake. As the winds howled, he climbed upon the largest Eldar tree he could find and roped himself to it, bracing for the storm to come. Three days later, all he could see was Ocean. Gobaith was gone, but he was free!

What's that? Seagulls! I can see Seagulls now!! That means land! Lots of it!!

Later that evening, the tree washed upon a small rocky shore in a new land. Although all the halfling could see were tall barren mountains with just a hint of some light from over the hill, he had unknowingly landed at the Mainland, in a place called Galmair.

He bid farewell to his companion for....a dwarven year?...maybe more....who knows....all he knew was that somehow he had survived, someone had spared him and things would be different. He would begin a new life...somewhere new. He was getting excited again. He was feeling something he hadn't known for quite sometime.....he, Bernie Bottoms, was feeling... Hope!

Wandering near the town, occasionally going to Galmair and sometimes Runewick, not allowed in Cadomyr...Juliana rarely sees halflings like she used to in Gobaith. Being "labeled" an outlaw simply for not joining a town which is the only assumption she could come up with of the reason their ban from one town...wasn't to her liking and not how the more relaxed island rules but it couldn't be helped.

Therefore when she saw this halfling in Galmair..used to seeing mainly dwarves, her curiosity was aroused. Usually being quite reticent, she moves in the shadows until close enough to view his face then whispers softly.

Bernie, is that you? You remember me..you called me Breanna?

Not a greatly liking halflings ever since a botched attempt at robbery by one ,Ufedhin at first grumbles at the sight of the tiny halfling.
Upon introduction Ufedhin learnt that Bernie was a refugee from Gobaith prehaps the only real thing to motivate him to some form of generosity aside from those of little little wit (simpletons) or friends.
He was please to be able to help a fellow refugee and find a home for a very small suit of guilded armour he made as a smithing test.

Wandering the city alone that night, the little Halfling looked this way and that for people. He traveled to the mines and talked to many residents, but no-one showed any sign of recognition.

However, while he was refilling some buckets with water, he overheard someone say...."Eek! There a nasty Gnome over by the well!!"

Laughing, he replied, "I am no gnome! I am a Halfling." Smiling he walked over to the three by the depot, conversing about high politics and such, bowed and introduced himself.

"Well, so it is!" the lady remarked, "but you're wearing Red. Better if you were wearing Yellow or Black!"

Blushing, the Halfling was embarrassed. How could he explain the horrible shape of his clothes? How could he, a 'Master' Tailor, ever be disgraced by wearing these rags? Looking down, Bernie was embarrassed.

An older Dwarf there, perhaps taking pity on him, offered a fine piece of armor just then. Smiling profusely with thanks, Bernie accepted it and tried it on. It was dwarven, and didn't quite fit right, but it was the best thing he had worn in months!

With a tear to his eye, he didn't know how to thank the old dwarf. Suddenly, he remembered the smell of the freshly baked bread he had in his pouch. These were fresh, fluffy, delicious and the first things he made here. He didn't hesitate and offered them to the old dwarf, who accepted them with a nod.

Not knowing what else to say, Bernie took his leave of the company of Alchemists and continued his search for tools, mines, merchants and quests to begin life anew. With people like this, willing to help a stranger in need, this day was quickly becoming better. With renewed vigor, he continued his search. Occasionally, one could even hear him whistling a merry tune.