The day of the gifting is spent preparing to depart for Kinloch Hold. A month’s supplies are obtained (16 days each way), the covered prisoner tumbrel* is inspected, and enough horses are provided to draw the cart (1), carry provisions (another 2), and carry riders (for those that want to ride).

The next morning, Ser Ragnall leads the party northeasterly under the Imperial Highway, stopping at Dainen’s farm as the sun is starting to disappear beyond the horizon. The old farmer is overjoyed to hear that the horrible affair with the apostate has been settled. He provides you with a good meal and you all spend your last night in a comfortable bed for the next couple of weeks.

The second day finds the group taking the wagon ramp onto the ancient Imperial Highway. Ser Ragnall says they should be able to stay on the elevated stone and marble road for several days, as there are periodic spots for resting near built-in firepits and covered nooks in case the weather turns poorly. Storm clouds roll through across their path by midday, but, thankfully, the rains stay north of the party.

The group reaches a nook with a firepit in the late afternoon, and Ser Ragnall says this is as good a place as any to stop for the night.

OOC: First, who is riding, who is walking, and who is driving/riding the tumbrel (which can carry the driver and one passenger “comfortably”)? At least one person needs to be on the tumbrel, and it can be Ser Ragnall, if you wish. The pace of travel is limited by the tumbrel, so those on foot can easily keep up.

Also, what is your watch schedule? There are enough of you that Ser Ragnall, Erin, Fost, and Wendoll can each take 2 hours, which would allow all of you to get enough sleep to be rested in the morning.

Oh, and just in case I forgot to mention it before, everyone is back at full health after the night’s rest at the farmstead.

* A tumbrel is a two-wheeled cart with high sides that was used to transport supplies or agricultural products (often manure), but also became known for being used to transport prisoners to the guillotine. The one you’re using was purpose-built to ferry prisoners from Lothering to South Reach to face high justice from the arl; as such, it’s covered and padlocked.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:03, Fri 03 Nov 2023.

Having stepped onto the road he already missed the warm and comfortable bed. Shaking the morning chill off his bones he walks next to the wagon. "You know, I've never learned how to ride. I know its weird since I sort of grew up on a large farm." The rest of the journey he either remains silent or asks questions about Ferelden. Though his prattle is interrupted by the old imperial highway. "Now this is something to look at. The old imperial highway. If I remember my history correctly then it was built in the year 480 in the old Tevinter calendar. It's truly a sign of a glorious empire when even those that follow still use their grand designs."

I'll be walking, perhaps switching sometimes with Ser Ragnall if he's riding on the wagon.

Despite his reputation, or nickname, as 'Longstrider', Fost was actually an accomplished rider and the added mobility from a horse was something he cherished and would not want to miss on the journey ahead.
While he had no particular experience fighting on horse-back and would need to dismount if matters got serious the idea of riding on the cart did not appeal at all unless no other could drive it. Having been raised in a tiny hamlet driving a wagon was one of the skills he had picked up early in his life.
He commented the awkwardness of using longbow or halberd while riding but did not have first hand experience.
"If no one else can drive, I will. Otherwise I'd prefer to ride."

Erin wasn't too picky regarding how to travel, the sense of duty in their mission and the excitement of another trip away from home in such short notice fueled her with the epinephrine of life. Not that she needed it, Erin was a veritable well of endless stamina condensed in a rather small package. "A road is a road, I wonder how it, how to say it... Still exists? After all this time, I am glad it does however, much better than treading on muddy trails."

When it came to stand watch however, she did have her preferences, choosing to go first if at all possible. "Sleeping sits best in one go, rather than little morsels."

When the templar offered to drive the cart even Fost was able to notice that Ser Ragnall would have preferred to ride himself.
Fost winked and grinned as he sat into the saddle.
"We can take shifts ridibg and driving if you want."
"The one who rides takes the middle night shift, though."
"Deal?"
As.long as he could remember he had been a mercenary, and thus was well used to nightly watches. The middle watch was worse for interrupted sleep but morning was the worst in his opinion as it meant a long day and restlessness kicked in as the sun set slowly.
So offering this deal was really at no cost to him.

Just listening to Fost talking about keeping watch makes Tyrus shudder. He never liked standing watch and never had to do so before traveling to Ferelden. Walking next to the wagon he finds himself watching the beautiful Mabari hound. Truly one of the best creations of the old Tevinter Imperium.

Ser Ragnall nods graciously to Fost. “Deal,” he replies.



"I also see it as a testament to the concept of magic serving man," Ser Ragnall adds. "A highway for travelers to minimize the natural dangers; how much faster did the light of Andraste spread on these marbled roads?"

The group settles down for the evening at the highway nook. They find a dozen pieces of batoned kindling left behind in the fire pit, which will save (at least a little bit) on their supply of kindling.

OOC: Erin has evening watch, and Fost/Ser Ragnall will alternate the two mid-watches. And Wendoll & Arnie will take the morning watch. The squishy mage gets to sleep uninterrupted.

Tyrus nods "Indeed, magic used well can do wonders." He looks at the captured mage "If it's used well." He chooses not to comment on Ser Ragnall's last response. Stopping for the night Tyrus stretches himself. "Well, this seems like a good place to rest. Is this going to be enough for a nice campfire?"

Tyrus stretches himself and takes a couple of steps. "Well, I guess I can go and look for some more wood nearby. Perhaps the honorable Ser Ragnall would be so kind and accompany me with a pot? We might find a stream or something nearby and we could make some stew."

"To start a fire, yes, but not to sustain it; we have some bundles of wood on one of the pack horses, but not enough to get us all the way to Kinloch," Ser Ragnall says as he climbs down from the cart. He pauses to check Fenwithe's condition, then adds, "As I'm sure you know, Tyrus, the magicks of your forebearers provided for the comfort of travelers forced to take shelter on the road."

As each member of the party enters the nook, they find that the temperature is comfortably mild - significantly cooler than the warm day that was the 26th of Bloomingtide. (The refreshing coolness at the start of their last adventure was fleeting and summer was back in full force by the time they left Lothering two mornings ago.) Tyrus does recall that some highway nooks are reflective of the season; they can't prevent the entry of snow or rain into the nook (which is why they're partially enclosed, so to speak), but the stones themselves warm or cool the area as needed to ensure the comfort of the traveler overnight. One could argue that it's a frivolous use of magic, but the result is a great blessing to any who must rest on the raised highway.

The templar opens the tumbrel gate and escorts Fenwithe into the nook. The apostate comments, "You haven't used your powers on me once this trip."

"I haven't needed to," Ser Ragnall quips, grasping the manacles that held the mage firmly. "'The Chains of Mahgran Mondravo', they're called, named for the dwarf who designed them. They're manacles designed to sever a mage's connection to the Fade while worn; drains your power, and prevents it from building back up."



“If you're wanting to save our wood stock, I’m happy to help, though I admit I'm not an accomplished 'gatherer,'” the templar says. “The lake is about a quarter mile or so off, so we can get water there if no stream is nearby.”

He pauses and looks Fenwithe up and down. “I could take you along with us to stretch your legs, but I’d rather not have to look after you while I’m helping the responsible mage prepare dinner,” he quips. Turning to the trio of warriors, he asks, “Could you keep an eye on him while I escort Tyrus about?”

Wendoll speaks up, "I am a scout by trade. I may be better suited to helping gather."

Ser Ragnall nods appreciatively. "Thank you."

OOC: Tyrus, please attempt a TN11 Cunning (Natural Lore) test, reduced to TN9 by Wendoll's assistance.

Hopefully, Tyrus wasn't trying to get Ser Ragnall away from the others to talk or something...if Tyrus insists on having Ser Rangall along, he'll relent and attend the mage, but the TN will revert to 11. Let me know in character (or, at least, in the OOC chat) before you roll.

Fost had listened attentively to the exchange and relaxed slightly when hearing about the magical manacles. He briefly wondered whether these used their victim's mana to empower themselves but quickly lost interest in something he truly had no idea about and would not be anle to grasp even if explained to him in detail. Suffice to know the effect. Then again, how would it be noticed if they no longer worked?
"How can you tell the manacles work? More important: what if they no longer do so? Would you notice?", he blurted, then realized thst it would probably be unwise to tell with Fenwithe to hear.
"Some day I hipe you'll tell me.", he thus added.

Tyrus listened closely to Ser Ragnall's explanation of the shackles, Mahgran Mondravo, a name to remember...
He nods and turns to Wendoll, "Yes, it might be better for you to come with me and bring Arnie, perhaps we can find something a bit fresher than hard tack and jerky." He nods towards their prisoner "It's probably better for you to stay with him." He says to Ser Ragnall before walking away with Wendoll.


I'll take Wendoll, I forgot that he was supposed to be my local guide and would probably know a little about scouting/nature.

Tyrus Morven rolled 12 using 3d6+3 with the AGE System with rolls of {6}, 2, 1.  natural lore.

Not being a seasoned traveler like the others and seeing how everyone got busy, Erin hesitantly looked around, before sitting down by the nook's entrance and announcing it as if it was her task. "I'll be standing by until it's time, all right?" She was virtually sparkling on her spot in the conviction that she was contributing while also staying out of the way of those who knew.

"It's no secret how it works, so I'm happy to share. The story of how we came to possess the manacles was recorded by one of the sisters of the Lothering Chantry in the middle of the last age," Ragnall explains in response to Fost's query. "It included excepts from Master Mahgran's journal concerning the manacles and details several lyrium-infused runes etched into the irons themselves. The runes, instead of being imbued with the power of the Fade for a set boon, draw that power from the nearest source - in this case, the mage enclosed in them. The dwarf also wrote that the manacles 'saturate' the mage with false-power, which doesn't allow him to fill his empty reserves - like an empty bucket with a hole in the bottom that appears to be full of water, it was told to me once. I can't say I understand it fully, but I can tell you it works very well."

Tyrus and his erstwhile guide retrace their steps to the nearest stairway to ground level, where they're able to gather a sufficient number fallen branches while Arnie scouts around with his snout. They also find a small stream, but it's not large enough to easily draw water from, so the trio make their way to the lakeshore, disturbing along the way a couple small murders of crows who were pausing for a drink. The crow caw at them in annoyance, but reform after the men pass...only to be annoyed by them again on the return trip. They return to the nook just as the sun touches the horizon.

With a knowing smile, Wendoll thanks Erin for "keeping watch" over the others as they worked. "We always need a pair of eyes looking outward."

Ser Ragnall helps Tyrus build the fire, making small talk in a low voice.

Tyrus had spend his time looking around the Ferelden countryside, stretching himself before returning to their campsite. Building a fire he notices Ser Ragnall approaching and helping him.

Ser Ragnall and Tyrus talk quietly together as they prepare the fire.