"Sure thing, lady."

The bluish-purple jewel's facets shine dully in the low light. They're oily to the touch, and the faint silver veins are buried beneath the coating.

On close inspection, it isn't just one jewel but many, embedded forcefully in the wood to give the illusion of a single, larger jewel.

Well, isn't that interesting.

Rowan makes a couple of sketches to show the way the component jewels fit together, grateful for the innkeeper's forbearance. She's no artist, but making a vaguely accurate sketch is still a useful skill, even if it ends up more schematic than representational. 

The innkeeper watches with mild interest, though he gets distracted by the Outskirters, who are arguing rather loudly over the correct telling of a story.

So does Rowan, after a minute or two. It isn't a story she's heard before, which puts it about level with the blue jewels in terms of ability to hold her interest.

Flipping to a new page in her notebook, she starts scribbling down the fragments she can piece together from the Outskirters' argument. 

They're trying to relate the time goblins attacked during Garryn's pyre. "Let Bel tell it!" becomes the eventual cry.

After the cry goes up, an Outskirter woman, dressed in pieced-together furs, stand on her chair and gestures, clearing her throat. The area around her falls into anticipatory silence.

"Silence and silence; the battle stilled.

The outcome delivered, foes dispersed:

Garryn's gift. His was the guidance,

Warrior's wisdom, and heart of wildness.

The Sun sank, urging us speed,

For in deep darkness, fire calls to Death,

To furies fouler, more fearsome than Man -"

More people quiet down as the story goes on, detailing the way that goblins, drawn like moths to a flame, attacked the camp in a massive swarm, lunging from the darkness with their cudgels held high.

At a particularly dramatic moment, the Outskirter's voice rises, and she stands straight, throwing back her cloak and putting her hand on her sword. A wide belt of glimmering blue gems sits about her waist.

At some point, Rowan stopped remembering to take notes, transfixed by the story. 

Now, she blinks and leans forward, trying to get a better look. Are those what she thinks they are?

Possibly! They're certainly flat, with no faceting, like the other examples she's seen.

This bears investigation.

...she'll wait for the story to finish, rather than interrupt it. That would be rude. 

The Outskirter finishes her tale to appreciative murmurs from the crowd, and table-thumping from her fellow warriors. A farm-hand helps her down from the chair, and says something that makes her throw her head back in laughter.

She's got everything she needed from this specimen. Time to investigate the new one. 

Thanking the innkeeper for his time, Rowan gets up from the table, sliding her notebook into her pack out of habit, and heads over to the Outskirters. 

The Outskirter is chatting with one of her fellow warriors now, apparently oblivious to the approaching woman.

"Excuse me?" Rowan tries.

"My name is Rowan; I'm a Steerswoman."

She keeps her voice relatively quiet, not wanting to let the whole bar know. 

She looks over Rowan with interest. "A Steerswoman, huh? I've heard of your kind, though I've never met one - you have to answer any question posed to you, right?"

"We do," she confirms. 

"And you must answer truthfully in return. There are questions I would ask of you; do you have any for me?"

"The truth is not always sensible. There are some answers best kept to oneself, after all. But I have time." She makes her excuses to her friend, and leads Rowan off to a small side table.

She follows placidly, taking a seat and pulling her notebook back out. 

"You are a fine storyteller," she comments, rather than dive straight in. 

"Thank you. What was your interest in me?"

Oh, good, a direct question. Answering those is far easier than thinking of what to say. 

"Your belt, actually. It - I noticed it has blue jewels on it, and...they look familiar," Rowan explains.

"I'm actually here, in this town, to study them." 

She looks down at her belt. "My father made it himself, some time ago. There's not another one like it. What's your interest in the jewels?"

"Um, academic. Well, mostly."

Rowan feels like she needs to clarify this a little more.

"I have been assigned the task of investigating their origins, and...their potential magical properties. But I have no particular plans for what to do with this information." 

"Magic, huh?" She takes off the belt and examines it. 

The belt consists of nine flat jewels shaped into disks, encased in silver and connected by large silver links, with a heavy clasp in the back. The jewels vary widely, far more than any Rowan has seen yet - some leaf-like with silver veins running from a central line, some with fine parallel lines, and the one in the center is a rich purple with thick veins that stands out in stark relief. They all have the same oily sheen.

"So we believe." 

Flipping to a blank page, she starts sketching furiously, paying particular attention to how the gems differ from each other. 

"Do you know where they were found?" 

"My father described the area to me."

Ah. One of those people.

Keeping her voice even, Rowan clarifies, "Would you repeat his description for me, please? And perhaps mark the location on my map?" 

"I can try to find it, sure. It was on Dust Ridge, out on the blackgrass prairie, due east of here. Three month's march, would be my guess." She looks through Rowan's maps, but turns out to be unfamiliar with the local area. Even on the largest map, she can't find Dust Ridge, or even the approximate location - the farthest east mapped is the nearest branch of the Grey River, and according to Bel, there should be another four rivers between it and the ridge.