Marabir seems content to skip this would-be breakfast, and it isn't long before they are off once more, making their way through the forest as the dawn begins to dissipate the mist about them. It only takes an hour to reach the southern edge of the forest, and by the time the mist has fully risen, they find themselves exiting the trees and looking across an expanse of open farmland once again. Keeping behind hills, embankments and the intermittent trees that line the paddocks, they begin to pick their way toward the nearest farmhouse, and soon the trio lie at the foot of a large cypress tree, an embankment shielding them from a farmhouse a couple of hundred yards away, and the tree's foliage shielding them from the road behind.

"Only one horse," Marabir observes grimly as he peers over the embankment at the yard beside the farmhouse. "And a packhorse by the looks of it."

“It should almost be strong enough to carry you.”

Aerendir seems to be checking if he can spot the farmer.

Marabir shoots Dalmar an unimpressed glance, but even as he does so, Dalmar and Aerendir's elven ears detect the distant sound of approaching hoofbeats from the direction of the road behind them. Aerendir can see no sign of the farmer, though he does see a plump, middle aged woman who he guesses to be his wife bustling about the house as she moves back and forth past the farmhouse's open doorway.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:32, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

“Incoming horsemen,” Aerendir warns.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:22, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

Marabir swiftly ducks back below the embankment, making sure he is concealed by the trunk of the tree.

"Friends or foes?" he whispers back.

A few moments later a party of riders rounds the hill behind them, cantering along the muddy road in the direction of the farmhouse. Aerendir counts eight riders, dressed in gambesons over which they wear chainmail hauberks. Their leader is a grizzled, middle aged veteran, and each carries a sword strapped to his side and a crossbow on their saddles.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:33, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

Dalmar goes to start signing something, checks himself when he remembers nobody present understands varim sign language, and then silently begins padding in the direction of the farm house, clearly having the intention of listening.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:12, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

Marabir decides it's definitely better if he doesn't attempt to follow Dalmar to the farmhouse, and carefully shifts around the tree truck to keep out of sight as the riders pass. He then slithers forward to the embankment once more once they are on the far side, slowly unsheathing his blade.

The riders do not spot Dalmar as they pass, drawing their mounts to a halt in the farmyard even as the portly farmer's wife comes out to see what all the commotion is about. The leader of the riders dismounts, approaching the woman with a respectful nod.

"Forgive my men and I for the intrusion, Dalia, is Enwyn around?" the man asks, glancing about.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:43, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

Dalia-- a burley woman in a threadbare dress and a cap that is failing to stop flyaway hairs from escaping, and whose flour-covered hands suggest she was in the middle of making breakfast, wipes her hands on her apron.

"Aye, he's over in that field yonder. He's not been makin' trouble, has he?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:31, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

"He has not," the man assures her with a wry smile, before his expression turns grim. "I shall talk to him now, but you do not happen to have seen a young knight passing through these parts? Possibly accompanied by an elf? Maybe going by the name of Sir Varonil?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:56, Sat 18 Mar 2023.

The look Dalia sends Tarth is very much like he's grown a second head.

"There's no knights been passing through these parts, Tarth. And there are those what say I have the eyes of a hawk up here," Dalia taps her temple, "so you can be sure if they did I'd not have missed them."

"Indeed, indeed," Tarth nods, clearly knowing better than to argue with the woman. His attention turns to a young girl of perhaps three or four who has appeared at the doorway behind, flour all over her hands and face and down her front. "Er, well, I can see you're busy, Dalia. I'll have a quick word to Enwyn and we'll be on our way."

Dalia’s eyes slit the moment she spots her errant offspring. As Tarth leaves, he hears Dalia’s voice assuming a sharper note asking what has mommy told you about playing in the flour?!
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:17, Sun 19 Mar 2023.

Tarth, meanwhile, makes his way down the slope behind the house, and is lost from sight from Aerendir and Marabir's vantage point, however, following at a discrete distance, Dalmar observes him walking to the bottom of the slope to where a ruddy skinned man in a coarse linen shirt and pants is tilling a field with a pair of teenage boys.

"Enwyn! Putting the boys to good work, I see," calls the warrior, waving with a grin as he reaches the foot of the hill and approaches the farmer.

Said boys seem only too happy to run over to Tarth and abandon their tilling, the one job clearly being more interesting than the other and Tarth clearly being a regular enough visitor here that he's a welcome sight.

If Enwyn privately thinks the correct term is was putting his boys to good work, he's sensible enough not to voice this in front of a man whose pouch is always plentifully endowed with gelds, and who never talks about oversupply issues to barter down wheat prices come harvest time.

"Tarth," Enwyn says. "Finally manage to get that day off ye was talking about applying for?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:51, Tue 21 Mar 2023.

Tarth gives each of the boys a good natured ruffle of the head as he reaches Enwyn, the boys in toe. He gives a wry chuckle at the mention of time off.

"A day off? What's that? But no, I'm afraid I'm here on business today," he responds as his expression grows serious. "Listen, Enwyn, you don't happen to have heard of a knight wandering around these parts? Possibly claiming to be a Sir Varonil? Young man, light browning hair and possibly injured?"

It's clear from the perplexed look that Enwyn sends Tarth that he hasn't.

"...One of ye lads gone missing?"

"Not quite," Tarth replies, lowing his voice in such a way that the two young boys seem to sense that something interesting is being discussed and prick up their ears. "They say it's Prince Marabir Carendil, though you didn't hear it from me. I know for a fact that Lord Ravalor has his brother, Prince Tyronius, captured. Lord Ravalor is calling all able bodied men to join him at Fort Ravalor in three days time, and he remembers those that stand by him in times of trial, regardless of rank. My advice is get Dal and the children up to the old monastery. I know a good number of folk who are doing the same. This is it, Enwyn, the moment our forefathers have waited for."

"..." Enwyn says as enthusiastically as possible.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:53, Tue 21 Mar 2023.

"Anyway," says Tarth, who doesn't seem to have picked up on any lack of enthusiasm on Enwyn's part, giving the man a bracing pat on the shoulder. "I'd best be off, got 23 more homesteads to reach before nightfall. I'll see you at the fortress soon, all right?"

Without waiting for a response, and with a final smile at the boys and ruffle of the nearest one's hair, he begins to stride back up the hill.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 11:01, Tue 21 Mar 2023.