Re: Roads scholars
The party pauses on the trail. The sun is westering behind them, and far-off, veiled in the hazy distance, the tiny silhouette of the dragon dwindles from sight, apparently flying eastward.
The long afternoon shadows of trees and hills stretch over the land, throwing the sun-soaked shrubs and grasses into golden relief. The air remains still--hot, sultry and redolent with the smells of warm grass and early summer blossoms. The party begins to eye the hills surrounding the caravan trail, searching for a likely spot to halt and camp for the night. Hau'dn almost immediately locates a nearly perfect site some half-mile off of the caravan trail. A stream with riparian cottonwood cover provides water and a place (and fuel) for cookfires, while a hilltop relatively close by offers a campsite with visibility and yet still has a small copse of trees that afford some cover.
Camp is struck on the hill, and a small fire is kindled beneath the shelter of the trees below. Perrato sets up a small spit to roast the pheasant, and the rabbits are quickly disjointed and cut up into stew-sized pieces. Wild onions, parsnips, and potatoes are grubbed from the ground nearby, and soon a passable trail stew is simmering near the fire as the roasting pheasant is carefully turned. A quick but satisfying meal is had by all--and darkness has well and truly fallen by the time the camp is set up and the meal finished.
The party members begin the tasks of settling in for the night. Horses are loosely tethered to trees, and bedrolls are spread out on the ground. Caylin does not bother to unpack his tent, as the warm, star-washed night shows little sign of rain. A quarter moon, waxing, hangs low on the eastern horizon. One by one, the companions bed themselves down. Villhalas takes the first watch, as a silence begins to descend over the hill and surrounding countryside--punctuated by the typical night noises of crickets, Paldorian chorus frogs, and the whirling sounds of nightjars hunting for aerial insects. In all, a typical summer's night in the countryside.
Villhalas watches as the moon treks across the sky. The day had been long, and the sorcerer was tired. Once or twice, his chin dropped to his chest, and the half-elf awoke with a start and a shake of his head. It was with relief that he woke Caylin for the second shift, moving to his own bedroll for some well-earned rest.
Caylin spent his time slipping quietly along the hillside, bow in hand. The presence of Villhalas' owl in the tree, unseen but awake, was reassuring. Estimating that a suitable amount of time had passed, the halfling awoke Totmacher for the third shift. The half-orc proceeded to climb the tree above Caylin's bedroll, raining down leaves and other debris. The halfling sighed, and moved his sleeping gear into the open and away from the barbarian perched in the tree.
Totmacher, axe in hand and javelin cradled in the branches within easy reach, watched the night around him as the stars wheeled through the sky. The darkness was hot--the earth had given up some of her heat, garnered during the day, to the night sky, but the air was still hot. The night wore on. Frog choruses faded, and cricket song gradually became quieter. Suddenly, however, the barbarian's hackles are raised, as he notes movement through the leaves of the tree--movement in the sky.
OOC: Initiative, please, Scott. Your initial Spot check allowed you to get this info--please roll another one for me, too (more info).