Aarnr is disappointed at the non-appearance of bandits, but ever keen to demonstrate his manliness, so when Fergus gives voice to the half-suspected truth and Colwyn points out the notable lack of progress, the priest is out of the driving seat (albeit the side designated for 'driver's assistant') and leaving his bow to mark his place, rushes down to flex his muscles (and hopefully make a few guards feel inadequate in the process), grinning as he sees the priestess has had the same idea.

Fergus shakes his head, grinning at Aarnr's palpable disappointment, and follows the priest over to the the wagon, where he lends his own strength to the effort to lift the corner of it high high enough to push the wheel back onto the end of the axle.  "All together.  Lift now!"

Between them, the guards, Fergus, Aarnr and Eilieen manage to shift the heavily laden dray, raising the axle just far enough.  Honil, assisted by the injured guards, pushes the wheel onto the axle, and gives it a hard kick to seat it home, at which point he places the mended peg in place.  Colwyn looks about for a stone, which is used to hammer the peg home.

"Good as new, or near enough." the merchant says, beaming, "Fortunate it is that I met you, my friends."

Preparations are made to move on, but before the caravan can get under way again, a howling sounds from somewhere out in the forest to the north, and is answered shortly after, from the south.

"Not too close, though too close for comfort." Honil declares, looking nervous.

"Sounds like Owlbears," Aarnr agrees sagely.  "We're probably froggin' scaring them."  He proudly shows Honil his feather-trophy.

Colwyn turns away from the wagon, pleased that his sage advice has clearly aided the repair.  The not-so-distant howling gives him pause, especially when Aarnr gives his assessment of the source.

"Is a owlbear soundin' like that then?  They's soundin' a lot like dogs, or wolfs."

The rogue pulls his short bow from his quiver and quickly strings it, in preparation for his first sight of a charging owlbear.  He reaches for an arrow, and stops. laughing.

"'ere.  Is them there owlbears bein' owls what's bein' as big as a bear, or bears what's bein' as tiny as Erista's owl?  Only I reckons as 'ow I could be 'andlin' the second one in a scrap, see."

"Let's just move along," Eilieen counsels with some trepidation.  "I've yet to get through a day where I haven't had to throw all of my divine power into healing."  A shrug follows.  "Not a poor use of it, but honestly, one of these days there simply won't be enough tea in the pot, and that will be trouble."

The Zadasthan stretches her back, wincing, and rolls her wrists.  Helping lift that cart hadn't been an easy task.  "I think I've earned my seat now," she murmurs, climbing back aboard 'her' wagon.

"What, what?  Why have we stopped?  Why all that cacophony?  Can't you keep it down a bit?  Are we there?"

Bilfro peeks out from the back of a wagon, having managed to get aboard the back of one and, by the looks of it, fallen asleep as he is now boasting a crumpled hat and a beard askew.

"I say, is there tea to be had?"  He looks at Eilieen with anticipation, a look that turns incredulous as she stretches and rolls her wrist.  He hopes her mention of tea was not an euphemism for some peculiar Zadasthan......habitude.

Honil looks at Aarnr's owlbear trophy in what could best be described as "polite awe".  "That's from an owlbear?  Astounding."  He sniffs, and then adds, "And such a distinctive aroma it has."

He turns towards his mount, "I do believe we have spent enough time here.  Let us away, lest something else delay us."

He climbs into the saddle with practised ease, and the guards return to their own horses (or seats, in the case of the injured men).

Fergus returns to the cart and positions himself on the driver's bench.  Then, after a moment's thought, he slides across to the other side, and waits for Aarnr to take the reins.  After all, what better time for Aarnr to learn the fine art of driving than now, when there are other wagons to provide transport, should the cart be destroyed.

Colwyn clambers into the rear of the same wagon as Bilfro, and sprawls across the cargo, making himself comfortable.  "We's bein' there in a bit, mate." he tells the crazed mage, "'ere, look!  It's a cloud as is lookin' like a chicken.  I could jus' murder a couple of eggs now.  My belly's thinkin' as my throat's been slitted."  He draws his thumb across his throat to demonstrate his meaning.

Aarnr eagerly takes up the reins from Fergus, and with a "thou'd better hang on !" to Eileen and any other brave souls who are sharing the back of the cart, bellows at the oxen to move off.

"Get a froggin' move on, thou beef-witted bum-baileys, else I'll gut thee !"

With the wagon successfully repaired, and Aarnr momentarily distracted from his campaign to annihilate the world's entire population of owlbears, the caravan moves on again.

Through the afternoon they follow the trade way, the sun at their backs.

Aarnr finds the cart easy enough to drive - the oxen are placid by nature, and seem content to keep plodding along, no matter what names the burly priest calls them.  What they lack in speed, they apparently make up for in reliability.  Fergus keeps his friend supplied with a steady stream of hints and tips, and suggestions about how to deal with potential problems.

Their companions, meanwhile, take advantage of the caravan.  They spend their time reading holy texts, or studying books on thaumaturgy.  Ozzy practices some of the songs he knows, mindful of Eilieen's presence when choosing which ones to play.  Bilfro lays sprawled across several bales of cloth, legs akimbo, while his newly acquired familiar perches on the side of the wagon, blinking owlishly, and everybody else attempts to avoid an inadvertent glimpse of whatever is hidden beneath the gangling wizard's robe.

Colwyn uses his knife to whittle a piece of wood... a shape gradually becomes recognisable (at least to him).  Astral stays close to Erista, not altogether sure of Odysseus Warfield Leonidas' intentions towards him.  Erista and Eilieen divide their time productively, between reading, dozing, and gazing at their surroundings.

The woodland is pleasant in the afternoon sun.  Filled with the sound of birds, bees and crickets... well, it is once the howling has faded into the distance behind them.  The journey continues, and occasionally they pass other travellers, heading towards Fairhill.  All report having encountered no trouble on the road today, and are grateful for Honil's warning of lurking bandits on the road to the west.

Towards sunset Honil calls for a halt and instructs his drivers to move the wagons off the road, parking them beneath the trees there.  "This seems like a good place to rest for the night."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 20:58, Sun 22 June 2014.

Colwyn hops down to the ground and looks around.  There seems to be a certain amount of activity, Fergus is unhitching the oxen, and Honil's drivers are doing the same for the horses.  But Colwyn doesn't know much about that sort of thing.

So he stretches, and scratches, and yawns a little.  Then he makes his way across to Erista and holds out his hand, flat and palm upwards, to reveal a tiny wooden owl, not much bigger than the last joint of his thumb, "I were sittin' 'roun' with nought ter be doin', so's I maked yer somethin'.  It's bein' yer little mate, there."  A nod towards Astral. 

"I's only good at owls - them's easy ter be makin' - an' that there bugger of Bilfro's  is bein' too bloody scary."

Some of the guards, meanwhile, have begun setting up camp.

Trees are dangerous things, liable to fall upon you without warning ... but Aarnr will not be the one to voice such misgivings.  As apprentice wagon-driver and feeling rather proud of himself (if thinking of getting some racing oxen as soon as funds permit), he dutifully assists Fergus with the care and feeding of the beasts, even going so far as to gift them with a few gracious insults for their efforts this day.

Having not had cause to curse Bowbe this day (other than in the most general terms) the priest elects to demand his god fill the water buckets with much swearing, pointed remarks and fist shaking at the heavens, lest the full-gorged gumpion think he needs not attend his follower.

Wincing at Aarnr's bombastic demands of his god, Eilieen hops off the wagon.  For a brief moment she considers lazing about, not bothering to assist with any camp preparations - after all, her work for the day has been saving the train from many hours lost in the creation of a new wagon-peg - but ultimately discards that idea.

Better to help.

Lovely sunset, she decides, staring out at the vista before moving to examine Colwyn's gift to Erista.  "Ooo, very nice," the priestess notes before choosing to help some of the guards set up camp.

Erista smiles, taking the tiny owl from Colwyn between her thumb and forefinger, holding it up to look at it from all sides.  Of course, `the last joint of his thumb' is comfortably palm-sized for her.  "It's beautiful," she says.  "Thank you!"  Letting Astral perch on her other wrist for a moment, she holds it up for the owl to see.  "Look! It's you!"

Astral blinks once, but after ascertaining that it is not a cricket of any sort, seems less impressed.

Honil sniffs the air, and tilts his head, as if listening for something.  All that is to be heard is the sound of birds returning to their roosts.  "Well, I'm certainly glad that we got away  from those blasted howls.  I don't hear them any more."

"Don't mean they aren't sneaking up on us." replies one of the drivers, cheerfully, as he starts making preparations to cook dinner.

Aarnr, by dint of insulting Bowbe's physical abilities, and his mother, manages to get a couple of buckets of fresh water, in addition to the kegs stored on one of the wagons, which is less fresh.

Before long, the smell of food cooking starts to fill the air.  Mashed turnip and beef stew for the caravan personnel.  As for everybody else...

"Would you like to share our dinner, or would you rather provide your own?" Honil asks...

"Froggin ... yes ... please," Aarnr eventually gets his tongue around the most difficult of words that the slave-tutor tried to teach him.  The impetus of beef stew provided sufficient grease to the wheels of language.

Given his recent chores, the irony of dinner shouldn't escape him, but it does.

"Aye, he agrees with the cheerful driver with relish and a dash of salt, "thou has the right of it.  Hell-hated hedge-pigs will still their gleepin' cries so as not to spook their prey."

"When it's quiet ... that's when ye should be most fobbin' worried !"  He pats his sword reassuringly.

The cuisine, while not the haute-est, is acceptable.  The driver, Jack, was apparently hired for his culinary expertise as much as his ability to handle a wagon and a team of horses.

He is also, as it happens, quite the raconteur.  Happy to recount tales of his youth, when he had taken to the life of an adventurer, like a duck to water.  Stories of fighting ogres and trolls up in Acregor, and even a dragon, worshipped as a god on the Isle of the Blessed Serpent.

For the latter, he rolls up his sleeve to show scars left by the acid the creature had vomited forth in the heat of battle.

"Wasn't that what caused me to retire though.  Was this bum leg what I got."  He slaps his right knee.  "Meant I couldn't move about as fast in a scrap, nor walk more than a few dozen steps - less if the weather's cold, or if it rains.  Not the best thing for the 'venturer's life."

Colwyn sits, quietly eating his turnip and beef, savouring the flavour.  "This 'ere's bein' bloody good grub, Jack.  Sticks ter yer ribs, like."  Jack's tales of his youthful adventures keep the rogue entertained while he eats.

"A bleedin' dragon?  I's 'opin' as I's never meetin' one of them there things.  I's bein' wantin' ter avoid all that there burnin' an' snappin' of teeth, an all that there rippin' with the claws.  It's not bein' fer me."

Then he chuckles.  "I's wagerin' as Aarnr'd be up fer it, mind.  So maybe as 'e can be dealin' with that, while I's lookin' round fer any loot the beast might be 'avin' in its den."

Aarnr is very impressed with Jack's tales of heroism and slaughter of exotic species and listens most respectfully admiring the scars jealously.

"Aye," the priest agrees most heartily with Colwyn's offer. "Once we have pillaged Rappan Athuk, we shall froggin' travel to the Isle of the Blessed Serpent, thee and I, thou ruttish rogue, along with any of our comrades who survive, and we shall slay the fiesty lizard and call its hoard our own !"

"Goodness!"  Eilieen peers at Jack's scars with eyes that would make Astral jealous.  "That's...horrible."  She can't even imagine the idea of having such a wound on her arm, much less (worst case!) her face.  "I...you are a brave man for having faced such a beast, a brave man indeed."

Leaning back, she savours the stew.  "It seems to have done naught to hinder your skill with victuals...but what of your skills as a seeker of troubles?  I understand you cannot run with ease, but I'm sure you provide a measure of safety for this wagon train."  Her eyebrows rise.  "What is it that you did, before?  As a, ah, ''venturer'?"

As Bilfro calmly decides eating feels good, his insistently juddering knees lingers; making nearly overt poppycock, quivering rumbustiously, still trembling under vexing worries.

Xenophobia yielded zero yabbering, xiphoid words vacated. Unnerving to such reckless quests partake; obtuse, nay, madness.  Likely killed jarringly, indeed.  Horrifically gruesome, flee euphonious.

"Dragon?" casually Bilfro asks.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:43, Thu 03 July 2014.

Odysseus gives a hoot.

Jack seems happy to answer questions from his new friends.

"Ah, see... the beasts not there no more.  Doing it in was the only way we could walk out of there.  Put up a fierce fight, and three good men died, as well as Bronwyn, a lass from up your way I'd reckon," with a nod to Aarnr, "Worth any four men in a scrap she were."

The last four of us brung out what we could of its loot.  My share lasted about a year because I didn't have the brain to keep any of it aside for later.  And I did the stupidest thing ever - I bought a horse, even though I didn't know a thing about them, and that were the bugger what don my leg in."

He gives Eilieen a nod of thanks for her comments on his cooking.  "I were a tracker and scout, and a good man with a longsword, at least until the damned horse kicked my knee sideways and made it so I can't scout further an I can spit.  Before that I was on my dad's farm, like that young fella there."


Fergus looks up from his second plate of stew, sure that he's being talked about...

Aarnr is not at all perturbed by the loss of his dragon.  "We shall have to go looking for one of our own," he commiserates with Colwyn who is undoubtedly disappointed by Jack's news.  "We shall scour the length and breadth of the lands until we find a beast, though all Orcus' putrid horde does bar our froggin' way !  Perhaps we may slay it, perhaps it will slay us.  My people do not fear death, so long as our deeds be remembered as thou remember Bronwyn."

The priest has long thought there to be something inimical about horses, and nods sympathetically as the driver confirms his suspicions.