Re: Hangin' with the cuz
Totmacher proceeds to raid the rectory's kitchen for comestibles, turning up a ham and several cold, roasted prairie hens. Grabbing a loaf of crusty, still-warm potato bread and a bottle of wine, the half-orc has the makings of a reasonable snack. During his foraging, the elder man walks in, smiles and nods to the party, and proceeds upstairs. Asher, preparing to depart, bows to the man, and the older man responds in kind.
Perrato makes a beeline for the Caravanaserai, where his mount is stabled. Paying the handful of Spokes and Drakes for feed and stabling, the Palonish priest is soon leading his mount back towards the rectory. Upon arriving, he finds his newly-met comrades mounted and ready to ride--an extra horse in tow. Mounting up, Perrato joins the party as they set out for Borderton's town gates. The older man, having reemerged from the rectory, lifts his hand in a silent farewell and benediction.
The guards at the gate wave the party through, although their eyes linger on the big half-orc. The town watchmen are guarding the gate, but two others--armored and with surcoats bearing the Imperial Pegasus--are present as well. One nods to Caylin, saying simply, "Fortune's favors, Bellitor." The halfling nods back, replying, "Strong walls, Bellitor."
The mounted companions swing towards the east, and are faced with a long, dusty trail that winds its way along the shoulders of the Blackthorn Hills in a roughly northeasterly direction. Other than a couple of shepherds grazing their flocks on the nearby hillsides, no signs of habitations or civilization lie ahead. To the west and behind them, the ramparts of the Perrinth Wall loom--Paldor's border and defense against the tribes, monsters, and brigands of the Central Wilds.
To the east, the sun continues to rise in the sky, already blazing down on the dusty caravan trail. Cicadas thrum a monotonous counterpoint to the hot silence of the sun's glare, and the wheeling choreography of the cliff swallows over the shrubby meadows near the trail provide the only observable movement. The party begins to follow the ancient caravan route eastward, cantering their horses along this fabled path. Small explosions of dust arise from every animal's hoof as it strikes the trail. Distantly and faintly, the tolling of nine chimes from the Caravanaserai and Mithran shrine back in Borderton reach some of the sharper-eared party memebers.
In the hot, sleepy sunshine of the beginning of Yearscusp, the companions have left the imperial lands of Paldor for the wilds.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:49, Mon 11 Apr 2005.