"Nay, lads.  The way o' th' old caravan trails is but fecked, good an' proper."  The grizzled, one-armed mercenary making this statement helped himself to another flagon of wine, as the chaotic noise and movement in the Borderton customshouse continued all around.  The mercenary quaffed half of his wine, looked at his audience, and shook his head.

The audience in question consisted of Garryn, Totmacher, Gilrak, Asher, Aidrin, Perrato, and Caylin.  All stood, ready to depart the walls of the Borderton customshouse on their proposed journey to the east, through the Central Wilds and to the lands of Narvil, and beyond that to the fabled City of Rimsedge.  The companions were arrayed with weapons, supplies, and transport to attempt the trek.

Yet the customshouse, virtually silent for much of this caravan season and the last due to the wars in the East, veritably surged with activity now.  Two caravans had arrived, along with a string of refugees from the conflicts.  Apparently, whatever forces had been waylaying the caravans previously on their way through the Central Wilds into Borderton had been exorcised--for now.

Again the mercenary spoke.  "I count meself lucky, by Mithras, t' have made it back in one piece...well, mostly, at any rate.  I've an ol' friend in Troutdale who'll grow this thing back agin, fer a portion o' that demon-gold they paid us in Rimsedge," the mercenary waved his arm-stump wearily.  He sighed.

"Watch yerselves, lads.  The way's beset by troll bandits an' rogue demons east o' the Plains, an' the gnolls are more'n willin' t' run ya down before y' even get there.  The elves' are jest a feral bunch o' bastards along the whole feckin' route, an' Narvil's a mess," here the man gestures towards the refugees that the Borderton guards and handful of Mithran priests are attempting to sort out and provide aid for.

The tides of war and strife have already rolled onto the shores of Paldor from the dark lands to the east, and the companions are poised to move ever closer to those treacherous undertows as they chart a course eastward...
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:40, Tue 24 June 2008.

The barely controlled chaos within the Borderton customshouse continues unabated, as the tide of humanity ebbs and flows across the barn-like interior.  Forlorn refugees mingle with caravan handlers and guards, with the latter occasionally cuffing some of the former out of the way.  The grizzled, one-armed veteran takes his leave of the party, his remaining hand gripping the wineskin and waving a salute towards the companions as he departs."Luck t' ye, lads.  Th' way east is a bitch's tongue an' a demon's whelp these fine days, boyos."

The crowd surges back and forth, as the Mithran clerics and a handful of town constables attempt to provide some order to the scene.  An imposing figure detaches himself from the crush of people, adroitly making his way towards the party past the intervening press of people.  Reaching the group, he sketches a quick bow and spreads his hands in a gesture of obeisance.  "Fellow travelers.  My leige and lord, whom you know as Aeruginosis, has bade me to impress this trifle upon you, as a token of his gratitude.  Travel well, dragonfriends."  With that, the man hands a rolled vellum scroll secured with two slighly verdigrised brass rings to Perrato, and then turns and weaves his way back into and through the crowd, disappearing almost instantly.

OOC:  Link to the scroll/map is here, under 'Central Wilds map'
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:38, Tue 24 June 2008.

'Dragon Friends'? Just how the Fek did he know about that?"  Gilrak asks - more to himself than to anyone else around him.  Turning his gaze to the group's Cleric - Perrato - Gilrak raises an eyebrow sharply:  "So what have ye' there Cleric??" he asks nodding in the way of the vellum scroll.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:24, Mon 23 June 2008.

"Ye might wanna consider loosin' those braids, Dwarf, I think they may be cuttin' off the blood to yer brain. Course he knows were 'dragon friends' a fekking dragon asked him to deliver the map as a gift to his friends. It doesn't take a sage to put deduce where 'dragon friends' came from," Garryn says quietly with a smirk to the pugnacious dwarf beside him. "Well, lads, we have a bit of coin and a considerable trip ahead of us. I suggest we acquire a cart or wagon and a goodly amount of provisions and supplies for our journey. I was thinkin' of askin' around a bit to see if we might hire on as guards for departing caravan, unless anyone objects to the idea," Garryn says turning his attention to the companions surrounding the table.

The man of Vagrani grimaces slightly while looking askance at his dwarven companion and mutters in his native Palonish, "¿Por qué me parece que solamente yo presto atención...Si Mithras él mismo nos hubiera aparecido, nadie que yo no habría visto nada..." Perrato begins unfurling the map for all the party to examine as he says, "Amigo mío Gilrak, Aeruginosis Dominus was the dragon that kindly came to our aid not so very long ago, and it would not very much surprise me if the servant whom he dispatched to deliver this gift were much more than meets the eye as well..."

As the group considers the new cartographic information, the cleric expresses some concerns about the trip eastward. "It seems to me a practical addition to our equipment at this juncture would be a cart on which we could carry some of our more cumbersome trappings, and ample livestock to haul it. The latter comes in especially handy as we...," Perrato again glances at the dwarf, "...have a terrible habit of, shall we say, exhausting our horses' usefulness, ¿no?"

At the last comment from the cleric, Gilrak lets loose a laugh deep from his barrel shaped mid section.  "Well - they did serve as suitable rations for the trip home, now didn't they..  The rest of you may want to save enough room for a meat grinder in that cart you're talking about.  Not me - While the rest of ya have been lolly-gaggin' around town for the last few weeks, I've spent some time breakin' this one in appropriate like.."(1)  With this, Gilrak pats the front flanks of his recently acquired warhorse.



(1) - Gil trained up in 'ride' and acquired the 'mounted combat' feat this level (purely a utilitarian move on his part - given the party's track record..)
This message was last edited by the player at 16:46, Sat 28 June 2008.

Asher flashes an uncharateristic smirk at the jibing of his commrades. Feeling well rested and glad of the time they have had to train, his spirits are high.

"I must agree with Garryn, as long as we are traveling the roads of the caravans, we should add our skills and weapons to their benefit and safe passage. Unless you see something on that map, Perrato, that would take us off the caravan roads" With this Asher turns his attention to the map layed out before Perrato. "Garryn, didn't Aeruginosis say this map lead to..." Asher looks over each shoulder and lowers his voice, "a lost treasure?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:00, Mon 23 June 2008.

Aidrin shifts on his feet and scans the room to see if anyone is taking undue interest in their conversation.

02:14, Today: Aidrin ap Gynwir rolled 20 using 1d20+1. Spot check.

"Nay, Friend, not this map, the Priest holds that map already," Garryn replies to the Monk, "This map appears to be an ordinary map of the trade routes and surrounding areas."