A little recap, part 1--Asher
The last glimmers of the setting sun array the sky in a wash of reds and oranges. The small vendors of roasted meats and cups of ale that line the road begin to step up their business, cajoling the tired, incoming caravans. Borderton sprawls loosely, and its wooden gates loom ahead...beyond the little roadside carts. Men stand in small knots, drinking their ale and conversing. Drovers curse their oxen, and the clink of mail and weapons from the caravan's mercenary guards is heard above the other sounds. Slowly, gradually, the animals, wagons, and people all make their way towards Borderton's gates. Snatches of conversation drift in and out, collage-like.
"...bad business. The war is drawing every copper from the profits..."
"...not a thing I could do about it. She had my jewels in the one hand and a knife in the other..."
"...gone missing. Glad that we made it through; heard tell others didn't..."
"...heard they had a go of it with orcs from the hills. Haveta see how it is in the Sword or Briarfell..."
Asher paces along beside one of the wagons. He casts his mind back over the past days. It seems decades since he has left the monastary for the road; yet, in reality, only scant weeks had elapsed. His thoughts turn inward and twist bitterly. His departure from the monastary was both traumatic and excrutiatingly painful. The death of his friend Robert...at Asher's own hands... Asher's thoughts reign themselves in. The monk carefully rearranges his thought patterns to circumvent the memory. He was here, in the present. Reality was an illusion, and the past was the shadow of an illusion.
Asher is jolted out of his reverie by his caravan's approach to the gates. As a caravan guard, he was expected to maintain a level of awareness. He had not failed in that duty on the road, and he would not fail now that his tenure was ended. The caravan arrived at the gates, and after some questioning by the guards, was allowed into the town. Within the bustling customs house, the merchant who had hired Asher back in Narvil paid the monk for his services. Ten gold coins changed hands; the merchant nodded his thanks, and Asher was left to his own devices in Borderton.
Looking up from the gold in his hand, Asher's eyes meet with those of a well-dressed man with a parchment and quill in his hands. Another mercenary nearby says clearly, "I've no interest. Have your own guardsmen track the man." The well-dressed man waves his hand dismissively in the mercenary's direction, and takes in Asher's appearance. Stepping forward, he says to Asher, "Sirrah, a word with you please..."
