After the Endevourers meet the Baron and receive supplies, some teamsters are hired to carry the party out of the paved roads of the capital and north up the gravel trail to the border, with Lord Einhard riding ahead, and the mule and dog trailing behind. The closer you get to the border with Braunstein you see a growing number of families filing along the sides of the road, heading in the opposite direction. They are refugees from the growing chaos. Some beg for food or coin as you roll past.

Brodd has never left Masondain which makes every step away from the city an exercise in the hypothetical.  Maps were useful things, but the lands themselves were only truly revealed underfoot.

Information, too, was a resource as useful as fresh water and the acolyte passes a copper into the hands of refugees as they go by.  Soon he will be completely penniless, but until then he wishes them well and also asks what befalls over the horizon.

Like Brother Brodd, Regdoc was empathetic to the plight of the refugees. His outlook was different in that he believed their path was His Path and the direction along it mattered little, only that one step continued to fall in front of the other. He would give what he could and upon it bestow the Blessing of the Wandering God.

"Keep moving, look as far down the Path as you can, stay attentive, let He Who Wanders walk beside you..."

The softness in his demeanor was notable, another facet to this cranky old codger...

"Thank you, Brother!" sobs a woman who pauses a moment from ushering her two small children along.

"We first new something was amiss when we heard thunder to the north, but the sky has been dry for a month! Then the goat-men came, the shaggy monsters wearing the mail and arms of our fallen soldiers! We barely escaped our village, but the others were not so lucky. We could smell the smoke as they burned our village and heard the screams of our neighbors being dragged away in chains!"

Instead of giving them money, Creston tells the refugees where he last saw a tree with fruit on it.

Walking with the others out of Maasondain, Amalrik sips on his wineskin.  Taking in the refugees as the flowed past the party, "It is a shame that so many are unwilling to take up arms for themselves."  Listening to them talk to Brother Brodd; he takes another swig of his wine:"Goat men you say...that sounds interesting."

Eron seems to delight in the barbarian's company with his penchant for drink and stays near him as the group travels forward.  The pixie pays little heed to the suffering refugees, and looks elsewhere for someone more light-hearted and fun.  He picks a piece of fruit from the tree that Creston has pointed out.  He sniffs it a bit and, finding it rotten in the core, throws it away.

Then the goat-men came, the shaggy monsters wearing the mail and arms of our fallen soldiers! We barely escaped our village, but the others were not so lucky. We could smell the smoke as they burned our village and heard the screams of our neighbors being dragged away in chains!"

Slavers as well as ravagers.  Not the work of a conquering enemy but instead one that intended to destroy, take what they could in people and goods, and move on.  Brodd wonders if there would be armies in the field before long.

"Goat men you say...that sounds interesting."

"The spawn of chaos often take half-human forms," Brodd says grimly.  "Beastmen, like the pig-orcs or the hyena-gnolls."

In reply to Brother Brodd (msg # 8):

"Don't forget elf-humans!  They can be the worst."  **hic**  The pixie's cheeks are flush again, after celebrating with the barbarian.

“For a man of Faith, you know a lot, Brodd.” Sasar smiles at the man.

“And you're good-hearted too.” Seeing Brodd give coins to the refugees.

“I’ve read about such offspring of a man and a beast from the old tomes I was able to access back in Masondain, but I find hard to believe they truly exist. The books I’ve read can be equally divided; either they are mad rants of an insane magic user, or a sophisticated, well though out study of some matter or  subject. The only ones which mentioned these creatures of chaos, were in the first category in my opinion. So If these creatures exist, I want to see them with my own eyes.”

Sasar takes a long and thin curved pipe of ivory from the pockets of his robes and starts to fill it with tobacco as they walk.

"All this walking makes me want a good drag... keeps out hunger, too"

“For a man of Faith, you know a lot, Brodd.” Sasar smiles at the man.

"Studies can seem endless! Hah.  I listened closely during my lessons," Brodd says with a smile in return.  Long lectures on the perils of undeath, magic use in general and other sins.  Some aspects of the endless teaching an initiate received seemed tiresome, old-fashioned and close-minded, but others valuable knowledge in a possible life and death struggle.

“And you're good-hearted too.” Seeing Brodd give coins to the refugees.

The least acolyte smiles, not quite used to receiving compliments from his betters.  "Compassion is one of several virtues that separates man from beast .." he says quietly.  If there was this many people displaced from land, there was a lot of suffering already and more all the time.  A few coppers were meaningless beyond a gesture that, here, things would get better.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:08, Wed 26 Sept 2018.

Iphigeneia, for her part, seems to be living up to her nickname of "Iffy", saying very little on the road but looking about much.  The talk of goat-men, and of other chaotic creatures, does not sit well with her.  What did she agree to do, to skip out on her sentence, and was it worth the danger?

While she seems aloof around the refugees, she, like Creston, offers help in the form of directions.  Where the elf pointed them to fruit-bearing trees, Iffy suggests that they supplement the fruit with small game she spotted.

"Let's keep moving young man," Regdoc urged Brother Brodd, "the Wanderer's Pack Straps my wear out before we reach our destination at this rate..."

Creston changes his place in the marching order, so as to get upwind of the smouldering tobacco.

In reply to Creston Fairwood (msg # 14):

Einhard quietly follows.