Welcome to Weimar Berlin, where a heady stew of occultism, art, politics, and decadence barely covers the scars of the Great War and desperate poverty that followed - and where the veil between the waking world and the Dreamlands is wearing thin.
"I think someone else changed the bar," says Max, "probably Alex. All I did was make a lager appear. That's interesting. Any changes made seem to be retroactive. I don't know why someone wants to destroy these cities, but the three of us should try to restore them."
Max sighs. "It's always easier to destroy than to build, I suppose," he says. "An entire city is too big to shape. I guess they inflicted the destruction by shaping weapons into existence, and they must have used them here in the last few days."
"And these ruins look older than that..." Helmut says, as if to himself. "The laws that govern this process must be fascinating."
Once the barge reaches Thraa, it at least remains intact - including the scent of its famous bread which you hungered to on your way through. However, the mood in the city is tense - everywhere you look there are small groups engaged in worried talk - through scraps of overheard sentences you glean that the predominant topic is "the war" and whether it will close in on the city.
The Dotherites take Max's advice and get the ship ready to sail. As you put out to sea the weather seems to have turned to reflect the mood in the city - or perhaps a quest that yielded more unhappy revelations than anything else - the sky filling with dark clouds and racing wind. Rain follows quickly, not cold, but driving.
The Dotherites do not appear to be worried about their ability to handle the vessel, but advise you to get into the cabin unless you want to get soaked.
The cabin provides better protection from the wind than it seems like ought to from the gaps around the door, though the stacatto of the rain on the wooden roof still lends a cold feeling.
It occurs to you that this is first bad weather you've encountered since arriving in the Dreamlands - the thought reminds you of the waking world, and you finds yourselves awake in your beds, without conscious awareness of the transition.
