Among them is a Steerswoman, dressed in their typical cloak, pants, shirt, and heavy-duty traveller's boots.

Rowan is newly arrived in Five Corners, chasing rumours that the innkeeper possesses a particularly large specimen of the mysterious blue jewels she's investigating. The question she seeks to answer: what are the blue stones? From where do they originate, and how? Finally - and most personally interesting to Rowan - are they magic, and in what way?

The inn has gathered a large, lively crowd - in one corner a caravan guide regales a merchant and his three daughters with various tales; in another, several more caravan members sit chatting with five soldiers dressed in the livery of the Red wizards, one of the two wizarding factions. A pilgrimage leader lectures his flock, while a local stands behind him and parodies his motions. Off to the side sit a full dozen Outskirters, the ring of silence around them slowly being breached by the more intrepid patrons. The innkeeper stands behind the bar, and on the grand mantelpiece sits a piece of wood, about the size of two fists beside one another, with a surface that glimmers in the firelight.

That must be the jewel she's heard about. The rumours say it was found embedded in a tree. 

Rather than go straight up to it and examine the object itself for clues, as she would like to, Rowan heads for the bar to ask the innkeeper about his prize. 

As she makes her way through the room, she turns over possible wordings in her head. A Steerswoman's questions must be answered truthfully; this is both a great help and a heavy responsibility. In turn, she cannot tell a lie. So, how to approach this...

"Welcome to my inn, traveler!" the innkeeper calls when she approaches. "How may I be of service?"

"A room for the night, if you please." True - it's too late to set off again at this point, even if she finds out all she needs to know this evening. 

Rowan leans a hand on the bar, angled so that her möbius-band ring is visible to the innkeeper. She is not particularly careful about hiding it from the other patrons; it's not as though she minds sharing her knowledge with curious folk. 

"A steerswoman, eh? Glad to have you. No charge for the room for you, lady, though I have a few questions about the road."

"Many thanks."

She's unlikely to get a better opening than this, tonight.

"I would be happy to answer your questions - and I have a few of my own to ask of you." 

"Well, ask away, lady. I'll get my daughter to cover the bar." He calls over his shoulder and a stout girl appears, slipping behind the bar as he steps out. The innkeep's daughter looks at the steerswoman with blatant curiosity and faint awe, but she remains professional and takes over for her father with ease.

"A question for a question?" Rowan proposes, once the innkeeper has relieved himself of his duties and they have found a relatively quiet corner in which to talk. 

"Until one of us runs out, that is." 

"I'd rather do everything in batches, to keep things straight and all."

"If that is what you prefer," she agrees easily.

"Your questions first, then." This is half politeness, half a ploy to give herself more time to think. 

His questions are all fairly minor things - which road she came by, its condition, some discussion of prices, the weather, that sort of thing.

She answers them happily.

For a few answers, she consults the notebook in her bag rather than trust her memory. She makes a habit of recording the major details of each day, including the weather and anything which caused problems, such as bad road conditions. 

"Was that all you wished to know?"

"Yes, lady. What about your questions?"

She has her notebook out already, and reaches for a writing implement to record his answers.

"That block of wood, on your mantel," she begins. "What is it?" 

"Ah, my jewel, you mean?" He goes to fetch it down from the mantel. "A real beauty. Found it some ten years ago, while felling trees out near my old home."

Ten years! Then there is not much hope of getting any useful detail out of him. Still, no harm in trying. 

"Where did you find it, exactly?"

"In a tree on the farm northeast of here, near-ish this old brook my brothers and I liked to play by as children. I could place it on a map, I suspect."

"That would be useful." 

Searching through her bag again, Rowan pulls out her map of the region around Five Corners, and spreads it out on the table. 

"Well would you look at that. Laid out just like we were birds." He points to the marking for Five Corners. "And here we are." Then to the northeast: "And right there's the old farm where my brothers and I all lived. Over here's where we were felling the trees, right past this here brook."

Rowan marks the spot as precisely as she can get the man to specify its location.

"And how did you find the jewel?" she asks next.

"Well, my brothers and I were out felling trees - some of them're here," he gestures up at the massive beams supporting the roof, "And I'm not quite as strong as my brothers, so I wander off a bit, try and find a tree more my size. I remember seeing the Eastern Guidestar through the branches, shining there like an omen. A few strikes of my ax, and there's this shimmer. Once I'd finished felling the tree, I cut the gem out."

Rowan draws a diagram in her notes, asking a few clarifying questions to establish from which direction he cut the tree.

Every detail could be important in this case, including such seemingly insignificant trivia as the position of the jewel within the tree. 

"Well, other than that I was facing the Guidestar, can't quite remember. Not sure where in the tree it was, that long ago."

That's the best she's likely to get. Still, given the time gap, it's impressive that he remembered even this much. 

"That will suffice; thank you."

And, since it's here: "May I examine your jewel in greater detail? I shall not harm it." 

"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. 

It's a good thing Rowan has a bunch of spare paper!

She might be here to investigate the jewels, but she's certainly not going to turn down the opportunity to get a map of the land east of the Grey River. 

Bel will do as best she can, though she hasn't been even half that far herself. She sketches with some detail the eastern branch of the Grey, then a swath of hills beyond that, then a small stretch of the river that borders them. Beyond is unnamed land from her father's stories, distances measured in rough travel time across inhospitable land. Bel's no cartographer, but she has a good memory and an eye for distance.

Rowan can help her convert days' travel into distances on paper, and translate her vague mental images into legible lines on the page. 

"Thank you. This will be a welcome addition to our store of knowledge, even if no Steerswoman ever wishes to travel in those regions - which seems unlikely." 

"It was no problem. And you'd need a local guide. The lands are dangerous and inhospitable, even to those who live there. Especially the blackgrass prairie."

Rowan looks at the belt again, considering. If all of these were found in one place...

"Are you offering?" 

"Perhaps. You don't speak as if you're planning on setting out immediately; where are you going next?"