The journey to Burova is one that the group as a whole end up swearing to never take again by the same route. As if the skies above wished them ill, the heavy rain continued on the majority of the two weeks, and when it was merciful enough to stop for a few hours, a heavy fog would set in, forcing them to make camp until it dissipated, usually with the coming of more rain. The trails that Temnir led them on to reach the capital were at one point hard packed dirt but the rain had turned them into thick mud, trapping boots every few steps and ultimately forcing them to abandon them and cross through the countryside instead. That did not spell the end of their troubles though. Almost as if a daily ritual, small bands of the recently turned would appear and, although easily disposed of, necessitated a guard to be posted at all hours of the day and during their resting hours, the few that they got.

Finally as the day feels to be coming to an end, the actual time of day nearly impossible to judge from the lack of sunlight over the last two weeks, the group comes around a large hill to reveal the city of Burova gleaming though the darkness and rain a few miles away. With every last one of them weary from travel, caked in mud, and in desperate need of a bed softer than the rocks they had been forced to sleep on to avoid floodwater during the night, the group picks up a second wind as they make their way to the gate.

The city of Burova is easily one of the largest civilized locations in the world, the capital city of Caris in Tycosia being the only one to surpass it. Three giant hills dominate the city, the southernmost one housing a large complex of religious-looking buildings, the middle almost entirely covered in houses, and the northernmost utterly dominated by a behemoth of a castle, easily as tall as the mountain it sat upon and threatening to spill over the sides of its pedestal. The valleys in between the mountains play host to a number of other buildings, most smaller than the ones on the middle hill. The bay of the city is surrounded by a large seawall with an opening of a few hundred feet open to allow vessels in and our of the harbor. Currently, it seems that there is a large chain blocking access though. In the darkness, the harbor itself is hard to make out though the two outcroppings in the water where a pair of lighthouses sit are illuminated enough to show the tops of a plethora of masts inside the wall. The wall surrounding the city itself is tall, thick, and scarred from a myriad of battles though at first glance, it seems battles with the undead are not among them. No skeletons or other undead creatures littler the ground nor do the guards at the gate look overly alert to danger as a steady stream of farmers and workers make their way back into the safety of the city wall after a hard day of working in the farms outside the city that the group had been passing now for close to an hour.


As the group nears the gate and the guards come into view better, it seems something forgotten jumps into Temnir's mind and he immediately turns on his companions and speaks in a rapid whisper, "Whatever you do, you must not tell them you are followers of Pelor. St. Cuthbert's word is law here and there are precious few that take kindly to those who would usurp their power. I know this is a touchy subject and I apologize for the last minute notice, but if we are to be able to stay here for now, I need you to trust me on this." His warning is emphasized towards Solomon but he makes sure to take Renard into his gaze as well. To back up Temnir's assertions, there on the breast of each and every mace-wielding guard was the insignia of none other than St. Cuthbert the Cudgel.

Solomon was cold, muddy, and wet.  He was not used to this type of weather and his mood was just as foul.  He glared at Temnir as he gave his religious warning.  Solomon would not forsake his god for convinience, but he also was not in the mood to deal with persecution at the moment either.  He bit his tounge.  The charm he wore around his left wrist was small, and resembled a stylized sun.  While some might recognize the signifigance, to most it would appear as a simple charm.  For now he kept it where it was.  Should the need arise to enter a cathedral of St. Cuthbert, he would then consider hiding it.

Temnir looks a bit chagrinned at Solomon's reaction but tries not to let it show as he turns to the line that has just about led them to the gate of the city. As the last person in line in front of the group moves up to be inspected by the guards, one of the armored men pulls his mace off of his belt and raises it just high enough to hint at the threat of violence. The man who had been trying to gain entrance into the city had to be older than sixty and even walked with a cane. As another guard comes and grabs his arm and begins dragging him away into the guard house, the man looks around wildly and as if he has no clue what he has done wrong.

As the group watches the man being drug away, the guard with the mace clears his throat expectingly, "Name and reason for visit?" If the group hadn't witnessed what just happened, they would have thought that this man had been sitting idly on an uneventful day of guard duty with how he presented himself and at the tone of nonchalance in his voice.

Renard remains quiet at the back of the group, looking quietly from Solomon to Temnir and waiting to see what they say.  He does not want to give away any information that would get them into trouble and so he will go along with whatever they say to the guard.  He isn't overly worried about being caught out as a worshiper of Pelor.  He has made his own way in hostile territory before, and his small holy symbol is easily hidden among the chains around his neck which he can even now feel rattling menacingly, Jeeves probably picking up on Renard's own anxiety about the situation.

Skraag stands in line with the others and watches the old man being dragged off. While he doesn't want any trouble with the guards, he is not in the best of moods. Days on end of tramping through the mud have ground away at his patience.

A dragon should not be arriving at a new city tired old and covered in mud. It was embarrassing.

"We are travellers who have grown weary of the foul weather and seek a more comforting establishment for a few days," grumbles Solomon.  He stands up straight letting the guard know that he will not be so easily assaulted or intimidated as the old man before them.  Solomon knew not what the old man spoke of that got him hauled off, so he said nothing of the undead for now.  Most of Solomon was hidden under a large cloak, giving the man little to judge him by.

Cho'kobo eyed the guard like he did the skeletons days ago, but Solomon held the reins tight.

"Travelers that try to inconspicuously leave their names out of their plea for entrance? Not to mention, you travel with that," the guardsman says down his nose while looking at Skraag as he regrips his mace in his hand. Temnir quickly steps forward and waves his hands placatingly and, in the most humble the man has probably ever had to act in his entire life, attempts to mitigate the situation. "You'll have to forgive him, good sir. We've been traveling for weeks now and the going has been rough indeed. This is Solomon of the Burning Sands, Kuldar Balak, a bard most talented, Renard Waywynd, a wiseman of sorts, and that is Skraag, a kobold of no small magical skill," motioning to each in turn. "As for myself, I am Allistar Hilton, entertainer and this group's guide through Derevaan until we reach our destination of Delgall in the coming weeks." Temnir finishes with a grand flourish and a bow before looking up at the guard. For a moment there is silence as the guard looks between each of the group members and then back to Temnir with a cocked eyebrow and a dubious expression on his face. "Fine, then. Cause any trouble in the city though and it's the Rat Cellars for the whole lot of ya." Motioning them to proceed, the group enters the city by the hair on their chins.

The buildings around the wall of Burova are mostly defensive in nature; guard houses, armories, barracks, and a few shops to assist their living needs including a butcher, smithy, and leatherworker. A bit further in, the lower city residential houses begin to make an appearance, their roofs shingled but neglected and their walls cracked, dirty but still standing. Now that they are a reasonable distance from the guards, the group moves to the side of the busy thoroughfare and huddles around. "Well that couldn't have been less enjoyable..." Temnir mutters, his typical salty self surfacing. "Welcome to Burova, capital of Derevaan, where the rich stay on their hills, and the poor suffer under waves of filth until they conscript out of necessity," he continues, mocking the persona of entertainer and guide he created for the gate guard. Stopping abruptly and looking around at the crowd and the faces within it, he pulls up his hood a bit further and shrinks back a little further into the shadows of the building they're currently taking shelter from the rain under; a cobbler. "So what's first then?"

Tired of holding his tongue and temper, now that the group has stopped, Skraag kicks Temnir in the shin, then tells him angrily, "Dragon! I don't care if these yokels can't tell a Dragon from a toad! Next time you tell them! If they don't believe me I'll burn the lot of them!"

Skraag's foul mood really had more to do with the groups traveling conditions then any lack of respect for his being a Dragon, but being called a Kobold was the stick that broke the bundle.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:48, Tue 27 Nov 2012.

"Son of a-" Temnir makes to lash out and grab the little weasel by his throat but restrains himself mid-lunge and places himself back in the shadows. "If you're so keen on being called a dragon then explain to me why you aren't enormous, flying around, and have a treasure hoard and infinite wisdom hmm?" The argument is petty but the bruise the little bastard had likely left on his shin was worth the hurt ego he was aiming to inflict on Skraag. It had been a long and tiring trip indeed.