Dawn: Northending
Councillor Karolin looked out on the glowing lights of the city below her. She shivered in the predawn stillness of the Council chambers. The chill winds of late fall whipped flurrying snow through the streets and rattled the glass window panes, hinting ominously at a bitter winter to come. Throughout the town, the week-long celebration of the rescue of the Egg was slowly dying down, the pent-up frustrations of generations breaking loose in seven days of feasting, and revelry; Chaos echoing in the very heart of Law.
Sighing, she feared that it may well be the last merriment she or any other High Council member witnessed for a long time, possibly the rest of her life. Other than those of the council and the weary adventurers, none knew exactly what the Egg was or the magnitude of the quest that regained it; only that it was a time to be glad.
For once, ignorance was good. For none here yet knew that Fairway had fallen without a fight and that it would not be long before a sober Northending and even New Empyrea itself would be threatened.
"Sharkel will be a difficult man to replace," whispered councillor Ekrubage, who had come up silently behind her, "Gurney has recommended a youth from Nimbortan, but I will defer to your wisdom".
"Falx arrived," the pale wizard continued, "he could barely fly. Sillitellimut may be months healing...I...I wish we could have saved Alice. The siege engines at Fairway took them each down with a single shot. My assistants are analyzing the bolt we took out of Falx, without even touching it I could almost smell magic and Evil."
"The Egg must be returned to its nest." she replied absently.
"It's not going to fly there."
"Pardon me?... oh, yes. Forgive me." The silence lasted until the the distant horizon began to pale. At last Karolin spoke.
"Send Curry to wake them gently. I fear we must impose upon them once again," the warmth of yet another sad sigh fogged the pane.

Early the next morning, Councilor Karolin of the High Council of Northending approaches the party with another request. She informs them that Falx is unable to fly the Egg to Doc's Island as they had discussed earlier. He was severely injured while flying reconaissance over Fairway and will not be able to fly long distances for quite some time. The Egg must be returned immediately.
The Council has determined that an overland route to the west coast, through the Charwood and over the High Peaks would be shorter and wiser. The Tangg-lord's grip beyond the Firedrake mountains is looser in the north. A small merchant caravan should be able to slide through unnoticed. A ship will be waiting at Clam Cove, south of Shell to take the party to Doc's Island, where the Egg can once again be put to nest.
The Egg is to be given to the near mythical hero, Doc, who is reputed to have been a veteran of the War of Ending nearly two centuries ago. Magical communications with him have ensured that he is aware that the PCs are coming. Doc will place the Egg back into its shrine.
The Council provides (within reason) for all the basic needs of the caravan; warm clothing, food, drink, grain and fodder for the animals, and repairs or replacements to weapons and armour (not magical items) lost in the previous mission. The High Council suggests that the party do whatever it can to disguise its true nature. For example, typical caravan guards do not wear full plate armour and it's uncommon to see any in anything heavier than scale with ring mail being far more common. Any displays of magical power are likely to draw the attention of Garythane spies and endanger the mission.
The caravan consists of three ox-drawn wagons, one bearing six large kegs of dwarven ale (although one barrel is specially lead-lined and contains the Egg), a second containing travel supplies and trade goods, and a third enclosed cook wagon with a private chamber for personal needs enroute.
Six oxen pull each wagon (total of 18) (AC 7; HD 3; hp 20; Move 12"). Up to a dozen standard riding horses are provided for the party and their followers, henchmen or hirelings (the latter limited to those necessary to drive the animals and carry out the basic tasks associated with the caravan).
The recommended route is north through the Charwood to the northwestern mountain range known as the High Peaks, through 'Bandit Pass' and on to a small, ruin-ringed harbor known as Clam Cove. Here, a ship will be waiting to take you to Doc's Island.
The humans to be encountered along the route will be mostly aligned with Neutrality; but, in general, will be favorable to New Empyrea and its causes. The people of Enders' Glen are isolationists opposed to anything that might escalate the tensions between Garythane and New Empyrea.

Preparations complete, the caravan prepares to set out on the journey across northern New Empyrea. A snow squall mars the morning of departure making the steep trail down the mountain even more slippery. It is not until the party has been travelling for an hour that an old man pokes his head out of the enclosed wagon and impatiently asks if they have reached their destination yet....

"Who in the abyss are you!?"
Skrufulus had gained a lot of confidence since he was first rescued from the stone coffin three months before. New armour, weapons, and Prudence as mentor had transformed the half orc into a new man.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:21, Thu 17 Nov 2011.

Reacting to her henchman's words of alarm, Prudence drew her massive long bow with the assistance of her magical leather gauntlets and held an arrow ready to fire.
"Yes, speak quickly or find yourself impaled!"

"Oh come on!" a disembodied voice drifts across with obvious annoyance.
"Not another human!"

Triladir sighed as the sword added its views, the thing never had anything useful to say and she wished it would just shut up. "We have other new friends, what's one more?" she said. The stowaway would prove either beneficial of fodder for the warriors to show off their muscles... again.  She was uncomfortable wearing 'normal' clothes and wished she could wear her robes. Only her backpack marked her as slightly different from the standard winter attired traveler. Shivering she pulled the sheepskin coat closer around her, it was warmer than her robe she had to admit.

"Ummm, HUMAN? Where's all the elves gone in this world? Somebody put me back into the caves if this is what I have to put up with outside. No class to be found anywhere!"

From a spot beneath the noticed of the many, and the view, Fenube glances upward.

"Oah, humans, elves, all you tall people look the same to me, cept'in that the humans keep their nostrils cleaner. Aiye!"

The gnome, who stood shorter then people sat, seemed particularly fragile sitting lower then most people even knew existed.

Ironic considering the thin crane-decorated pink kimono wrapped around the gnomes soft shoulders, and the long stretch of one smooth mocha colored leg all of which were braving the harsh elements.

"Have any of you a drop of natures natural insulation?"

Head tipped back, violaceous eye peered over the brim of a lutescent, feathered floppy hat. Long honey golden hair with strands of razor-red in three thin stripes framing the soft, not-quite child like face, brimming with feigned innocence.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:31, Wed 23 Nov 2011.

Following along toward the end of the caravan, Bregor hums a traveling song to himself but loud enough for other to hear.  Occasioanlly, he even appears to laugh at himself.

At the sight of the face sticking out of the wagon he bellows; "Hello now, be patient my kind sir.  The journey is still many miles ahead of us.  Please be patient but do tell us who you are.  I for one always enjoy good company on a journey, so please do tell."

"I guess someone missed the, 'disguise our true nature' advice?" said Triladir looking down at the gnome. "On the plus side perhaps no-one will see you down there..."

Athelstan stood back, somewhat uncomfortable in the scale armour he'd started out with way back as a squire. He intended to observe what happened and act accordingly.

"Falx!" Jeremiah proclaimed joyfully when he recognised the stowaway.
"I thought you were wounded, laid up recovering!?"
"What are you doing here?"

"Do you really think I wont be noticed? How dreadful"

A shiver runs down the spine of the gnome that has nothing to do with the chilly weather. A quick wink at the stunning red-head shows that no real feeling were harmed in the creation of this moment. Tyae!

"I will teach you a little lesson about not appearing too noticeable, Tri. Never, ever look like your trying to appear un-noticable!"

A chuckle like bells echoes across the snow.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:55, Thu 24 Nov 2011.

Laughing loudly at the gnome; "Now that is odd way to desribe not to get noticed."  I have the same problem" Bregor says slapping his rather large belly, "I am very hard to forget also."