Ethrain will guide you out of the gates of Redhaven to the east, and there at the gates are a few grooms from Rikken's Stables, in town.  They have a round dozen horses between them, though four are laden with pack saddles that seem to contain grain and other supplies.  Ethrain goes up to one of the grooms and murmurs his thanks, going to a sturdy and placid-looking brown mare and mounting up.

The groom looks up at you all and gives you a nod.

"These beasts are fairly calm and even-tempered, trained in the Gambrel way," he says by way of introduction.  He takes a few moments to go over the basic commands, how to hold the reins, what words to say and what actions to take to get the horses to stop, start, change their pace, or turn.  "Make sure to take their tack off at night, brush them down, and let the tack dry.  When you put the tack back on, make sure the saddle girth is tight, else you'll end up riding underneath the horse, and that's a view no one wants, for certain."  He points out things as he speaks, demonstrating his explanations on one long-suffering black gelding.  The groom gives a short lecture on not letting a horse eat too much at one go, and how much grain they can have in a day, before bringing the beasts forward.

"The black one here is Sable, and he's one of the biggest ones we have.  The bay is Heartwood, and she's a very calm one.  Hither and Yon are the two tall blue roans, and they're a bit faster then the others, and bit more mischievous.  Wellop is the buckskin gelding, and he's a titch more skittish, but very friendly.  Damson is the dark brown one with the black mane, and he's the one with the keenest nose.  Kiley is the brown one with the blaze on her nose, and she's the youngest of this group, a little prankster.  Pick your mounts, if you please!"

Once everyone had picked a beast to their choosing, and the grooms have adjusted the stirrups to fit everyone, the chief groom has one last thing to say.

"Last thing.  You're adventurers, but these are not battle-trained beasts.  They won't bolt at storms and common things, even a bandit raid won't make them panic.  Run, but not panic.  But don't drag them into any fight with any uncanny thing, because they'll only bolt and hurt themselves, you, or both.  All right?  Then good luck with you!"

With that, you can urge your horses onward, on the road to Fen-on-the-Fen and whatever mysteries await you there.

OOC:  Could I get a marching order?  The road can fit two across comfortably.  And let me know any standard adventuring procedures you want to do.  (Keep your bow out, have familiar range above/below/to the side, always look behind me every few minutes, etc.)
This message was last updated by the GM at 11:45, Thu 28 Jan 2016.

Having little experience with horses, Averdante opts for a quiet one, choosing the bay Damson; he was evidently so unmemorable as to acquire no particular name. He listens carefully to the grooms' instructions, gets himself astride, and once settled, puts those instructions in practice by riding a bit out of the way. While everone else is getting sorted out, he gets his bow out and experiments with how being mounted is going to affect his draw and targeting.

Trying to shoot straight ahead will be a problem, he realizes -- and the horse responds to strong leg pressure. He moves away from it. That could be useful, if Dante can remember it quickly enough to angle the horse slightly away from his target. And if the sound of a released bowstring doesn't alarm the horse.

He might well find out, given he'll be riding with his bow in hand for quick use.

Volsh was not all that good of a rider, but he was a big man, so he chose Sable.  He knew enough of working with animals to let the black smell him, and put him at ease before he tried to mount.  He had grabbed an apple and a handful of oats at breakfast, figuring the treat might get them started off on the right foot.   He put the apple in his flat hand and offered it to Sable as he stroked and patted his neck.  He had the oats in a leather sack for a snack later.

"Easy boy, just going for a ride, nothing exciting eh."  He had no illusions of trying to fight from horseback, and once astride noted that it would be a nasty tumble if he tried anything stupid like trying to dismount while running.  No, he was going to have to be alert and anticipate things, if it came down to it.  Hopefully, he and Sable would just be taking this ride to the Fen and that would the all of it.

Dellas wakes up early and gets ready for an early start. He made sure that his rations are fresh and that Vish got his bath (though he didn't like it)
Feeling full of energy and ready to unleash some of his spells, he eats a good breakfast before looking after Honeybee and just waits for the others while sitting on Honeybee and letting Vish run up and down his arms.

Bruenor listened with half an ear to the groom's instructions.  While he was not what you'd call an adept horseman, he had certainly ridden enough whilst living at his father's barony.  Getting in to too much mischief when he was younger usually meant extra chores, the menial kind, which would include helping old Gruden in the stables; often getting the most glamorous work...like shoveling shit from the stalls.

He snaps out of his reminiscing and walks over to Hither, looking at the animal's steel blue/gray coat.  A fast horse sounded good, and he reckoned he could handle a bit of mischief.  He walks up to the steed, and holds out his hand to let the horse smell him.  He then strokes the horse's head and neck, while speaking softly.  After a moment, he capably pulls himself into the saddle, and takes Hither for a quick walk round the area...getting a feel for the horse, and vice versa.

OOC: Bruenor will offer to take point, riding in the front with whomever will share it with him.  Whilst travelling, his gaze will mostly remain to the front & sides; scanning for any dangers or concerns ahead.  His sword will stay sheathed, unless he (or Hither) begin to feel nervous or uncomfortable about something.

Everyone finds their mount, Sir Aberlayne choosing to ride Valiant more towards the middle, to protect her brother (and also so her shorter-legged pony doesn't get left behind).  Armed and alert, familiars and animal companions ready, the group sets out.  Narthian takes Kiley, and spends several moments first communicating with Thunder before going to speak to his mount.  Thunder ranges at the edge of the woods along the road as you ride along so as to not disturb the horses.

Ethrain is eager to be on the road, and the weather is nice enough to cooperate, the sun coming up bright and clear, if warm, for the first part of your travels.  He keeps the pace brisk, but not breakneck, pausing for breaks for man and beast periodically.  You head due east from Redhaven, occasionally passing other travelers on the road.  A few merchant caravans with their guards and locked wagons of cargo, a few flocks and herds being driven to either new feeding grounds or the market, a couple lone travelers, some on horseback, some on foot.  One of the foot travelers is making remarkable time, hiking along at a clip that puts the horse to shame.  Narthian squints at the man's staff, and then again at a distant hawk far above, and mutters, "Druid," to the group in explanation.

It is just after dark when you spy a common campsite near one of the turn-offs on the road.  It has a couple of lean-tos, a couple of permanent firepits, some log benches, even sign pointing to a nearby brook where one could gather water.  Three people are already huddled around one of the firepits, a burly half-orc with a topknot, battered leather armor, and an orc double sword by his side, a delicate human women with skin the color of birchbark and eyes like the night sky, wearing traveling robes in buff and tan, and a gnome man in an eye-smartingly colorful getup, his blond hair and neat goatee impeccable.  He idly pipes a tune on a double-reed shalm and waves at Ethrain and the group as their horses pull up to the campsite and the empty firepit there.

"Ah, we made good time today!  I think we'll be to Fen-on-the-Fen by midafternoon tomorrow, if all goes well," Ethrian says, groaning slightly as he dismounts, shaking out his aging limbs from a day of hard travel.