As dusk settled over the Waystation (home of leo and his gf calypso), casting long shadows that mingled with the flickering glow of Leo’s latest invention, he noticed someone approaching from the edge of the woods. The stranger moved with an eerie grace, barely disturbing the fallen leaves underfoot, and was draped in an old, ragged cloak that looked like it had been pulled straight from an ancient myth. Leo squinted, leaning against a post on the porch, trying to get a better look. The figure paused just shy of the clearing, as though sizing up the Waystation and everyone inside.