Before the War of Wizards, the Red Raven Inn was a legend on the banks of the Elsa. You could hear the skirling of the violins along the water for miles. Now, the strings were silent, and even the voices were hushed of a night, as everyone listened for thunder. Tonight, they heard it. "Shhh!"  Old Cahill admonished the patrons, and holds up his cane. As one, the grizzled farmers and river boatmen closed their mouths and look up at the rafters. Barmaids paused, faces ashen. Unmistakably, there it was, the distant peal of thunder. Of course, Cahill had been the first to hear. He always was. Cahill frowned. "Girls. Set to. Close the windows.