"There's a storm just outside Qeynos."
Elusuvius was just coming to from his evening of fun the night before. It was quite early in the morning still, an hour before twilight perhaps. The haggard voice from the campfire was from one of his dad's old sailing buddies. "You can tell by the way the water moves. The way the surface dances and the undercurrent pulls the seaweed with such strength. Only a storm will pull that hard." He let out into a coughing fit. Everyone at the campfire with him knew his body was feeble and wouldn't last the winter to come. Not that it's particularly harsh in the steppes, but it could roughen up anyone too ill prepared.
A young girl sitting on an elf's lap across from him shuffled around, readjusting her dress. In a voice-so-innocent and hardly audible over the crackling of the fire she whispered "How do you know it's near Qeynos? The storm could be anywhere, breaking anything. It could be-"
"Now hold on!" the old man interrupted her with such a fit he started hacking up his last meal. "Who said anything about a storm breaking stuff? I'm no ranger-" Several men laughed and jested at his age. "I never was, but I understand that Karana must be respected. Storms are a necessity for the balance of Norrath. Some storms destroy. Most storms provide much-needed water to the woods and farms." Seeing the child realizing her mistake, he let his anger, frustration really, pass.
Picking up a skewered rat from the fire he continued in a quiet, haunting voice, "Anyways...The storm is going to bring people together. In the calamity of a storm, people get scared, as is natural to living beings, and they will hold each other tight - people they've never seen before, will never see again, from other worlds even. As disordered as a storm seems to most, we few, old, wise ones have learned that Karana is more than an angry man with a lightning rod. He understands nature better than the best rangers in the Faydark, and so he understands it is mortal nature to find another person to befriend when the sky grows dark and even the sun hides."
Elusuvius felt himself drifting back to the dreamworld, full of storms now so calm in their disorder he feels at peace. He hears the last words of an age-old man "The war will end with the force of a tempest pushing for peace."