"Know, oh prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars -- Nemedia, Ophir, Brythunia, Hyperborea, Zamora with its dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted mystery, Zingara with its chivalry, Koth that bordered on the pastoral lands of Shem, Stygia with its shadow-guarded tombs, Hyrkania whose riders wore steel and silk and gold. But the proudest kingdom of the world was Aquilonia, reigning supreme in the dreaming west. Hither came Conan, the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his sandalled feet." -- The Nemedian Chronicles

It is the Year of the Horse, the final year in the Hyborian calendar cycle. It is the Month of the Snow Ape. And it is the third day of that month, the new month having begun just three days ago. You know this because you find yourself stationed at Fort Drethil, a wooden fort along the Westermarck, all that stands between the golden kingdom of Aquilonia and the trackless forests of Pictland. You know this because three days ago, a supply train bearing food and necessities for the population of the fort -- overseen by a Baron Trejanus -- was expected to arrive... but did not. You know this because the Baron's men-at-arms, mercenaries, and free companions are becoming restless. Three days is feeling like a very long time to not know what happened to the supply train.

(Folks are still wrapping up their characters, and I'd like to kick off first thing next week, if not sooner, but feel free to roleplay a little for now. How do you find yourself at Fort Drethil in the Westermarck? What do others around you know about you, generally? How have you been occupying your time at the fort?)

"I didn't mean anything by it." pleads Fanny to herself as she kneels over a soapy bucket and scrubs the mud from a silken garment. "Aren't I old enough to keep what company I choose? Everyone is a miscreant leper to you, why don't you lighten up?" she argues defiantly and bravely out loud, but in a low voice and only after glancing subtly over her shoulder to make sure the abbot wasn't nearby.

She wrings the garment free of water and slaps it open over a fence to dry, then she grabs the next garment and begins the process of washing again. Making a mock serious face she grumbles "Discipline and self denial is the path to enlightenment. Spend more time in quiet meditation and self reflection and less time engaging in... conviviality." she mocks in her most imperious voice.

Groaning she sets the next, but not the last, garment to dry on the fence and lifts the heavy bucket with both hands hanging between her bowed out legs. With the most awkward looking bucket hold that makes her look like a hermit crab she shuffles her way towards the end of the fence to dump it. It is clear that this bucket is a mite too heavy for her to handle.

"March you here. March you there. They don't really know where they want you, they just want to keep you busy," complained Darakyn. He was coming to grips with the vagaries of of being a soldier in the Aquilonian empire, but it was nowhere near are exciting as the recruiting officer had suggested when he had signed up. Certainly he had got to see exotic places, but mostly as mile after mile of muddy roads, and now, here he was, on the far reaches of the Westermarck in a crappy wooden fort, running low on supplies.

Almost without thinking about it he picks up Fanny's bucket to move it where she needs it next. She's a holy roller, but at least she's a girl, and that's better than all the bloody soldiers he has to deal with day in and day out.

"Think the supply wagon is just taking its time, or been taken?" he asks her. "Maybe we should ride out and look for it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:39, Mon 22 June 2020.

Fanny gives a relieved sigh as the soldier takes the bucket from her. "Great, that's great. You can set it down over here." she indicates with a finger. "Thank you."

She lets his question hang for a moment as she quietly reflects on the man, wondering if she was right about whether he was a soldier or not. After a short pause she probes, "I think your superiors would have something to say about who and when someone should investigate the missing wagon. Don't you? I know mine would. Would never let me go, that's for sure." She pouts.

"'Spect the Major's thinking about it," nods Darkyn, his accent full of the rolling r's and the long a's of the southern countryside in Aquilonia. "Nothing happens too fast around here, I reckon, until it's too late and then it all happens in a panic.

"First lesson I learned in the army, though -- don't ask questions."

He set the bucket down where she points and stands back to watch her work.

"Where you from? You look different than the girls I know. And you must 'ave pissed someone off to be set to doing all this laundry," he adds with a laugh.

Fanny kicks the bucket full of dirty water over into the ditch and brushes a loosened lock of damp hair behind her ear. "Don't ask questions you say? Can't say I've learned that one yet, though I'm sure the abbot isn't finished trying to educate me towards that ends." she holds up one of the dirty blue alien looking silken garments on the fence, similar to what she was wearing, for emphasis. She tosses the garment back onto the fence with a little attitude, like the now clean clothing was still tainted and dirty.

"Sometimes I wonder if I was meant for this life. I mean, I respect the discipline, the study and reflection, and the lifestyle and all. But, between you and me..." she looks back and forth conspiratorially, masks her mouth with a cupped hand and leans close to Darakyn. She whispers with a playful grin, "I think I'll go out of my mind with boredom."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:56, Mon 22 June 2020.

(For those of you who haven't posted in this thread yet: Please roleplay a little. How do you find yourself at Fort Drethil in the Westermarck? What do others around you know about you, generally? How have you been occupying your time at the fort?)

The land was depressingly flat and Abdur would have preferred to serve on the Cimmerian frontier where the hills and mountains although small reminded him of his homeland in the Himelias.  Still the Picts were fierce and worthy foes and in their savagery not too unlike his own people.  There would be trouble, more than on the Cimmerian frontier where the raids were fierce, sudden and powerful while along the Thunder River the Picts would come across in stealth and brutality until some sudden event would have them surge across in a wave of screaming death.  He smiled thinking of the blood and glory to be had, the hard fighting and deep drinking afterward.

Tall, with an unruly shock of hair and a bushy beard Abdul was hirsute, tall and burly with a speed and power bred in the harsh lands of tall mountains, deep valleys, fierce maidens and bold warriors.  Abdul Rahman had come a long way from the roof of the world.  Vendhayan raids had brutalized his tribe although they'd given better than they'd taken with hundreds of the mounted dogs laid out dead on the mountain trails.  The invaders had been driven back as they had always been but at a cost that crippled his people.  Rather than accept the take over by neighbors Abdul had traveled north and west to seek his fortune.  Black Kingdoms, Kush, Shem, Koth, even supercilious Nemedia had seen the flash of Abdul's blade and his fierce thirst for drink and wenches.  Now bored and hearing of unrest in Aquilonia Abdul had come to the very edge of civilization.

Strolling along the ramparts of the ramshackle fort Abdul noted the girl with the look of Khitai and the Aquilonian.  The chit was attractive although soft seeming and had been lingering around a strange group of wise men.  Abdul forked his fingers and spit in aversion against the evil eye.  In the week he'd been in the fort Abdul had avoided the wise men as he had no truck with strange gods and stranger sorcery.  Yet the girl was washing clothing in the most mundane of tasks and talking to one of the burly Aquilonian soldiers, young and full of vigor.  Spitting again Abdl swaggered over to the pair with the rolling gait of a hillman.

"Bad news in these lands with missing wagons.  Picts took them for sure and their heads are shrinking in the medicine huts across the river for sure," Abdul broke in gruffly.  "The far east, yes?" He asked the girl.  "You, I've seen in the drills... good with a sword."  He nodded to Darakyn.  "I am Abdul Rahman of the Highuri of the Himelian mountains."  He spat again and made a motion against evil spirits.  "There will be blood on the trails soon enough I think... soon enough."

"Very good!" praises Fanny with excitement. "My name is Fan-Hee, from the southern jungles of Khitai. We are both very far from home."

Fanny eyes the newcomer with fascination. She knew much about her Hyrkanian neighbors, from her studies, and had only briefly had the opportunity in the past to speak with one. He looked as wild and strong as the mountains he came from and she shuddered to think of having to face him in battle. Yogah be praised for the wall.

"Can I ask you a question?" ignoring the need for an affirmative she continues without skipping a beat. "What makes you so certain that the missing wagons are the work of the Picts? I understand the likelihood, and I can feel the tension around here, but why the certainty?"

As the three speak by the fence, the ditch, and the washing, an Aquilonian -- garbed as one of Baron Trejanus's men-at-arms -- approaches, walking with purpose. He is fully armed, as though on patrol, carrying his bill, with an arming sword sheathed at his hip.

"You there," he says sharply, pointing a finger at Darakyn Chard and Abdur Rahman. "Come with me. The Baron has need for such as you."

Shaharazara led her horse from the nearby stables and began to clean her hooves. She lifted each and held it firmly between her knees as she removed the caked mud with a stiff brush, occasionally prying out a stone wedged beneath the shoes. Amansinaya snorted her complaints, but remained patient and still throughout the ordeal. Neither of the pair were very fond of the area, the surrounding woods and rivers being less than ideal horse country.

"Don't worry, love." The Shemite woman said, speaking the words to her horse, but loudly enough to interject herself into the nearby conversation that she had obviously been listening to. "Locked up in here, we're nothing but a supply depot for the Picts. We'll be sent out hunting soon enough."

"Khitai?  Far from home indeed Fan-Hee.  Are you with that group of scholars?" Abdul looked down where her wash was drying. "You seem more... practical... than those others."  He shrugged at the question of who might be stirring trouble. "The Picts are lurking just across the Thunder River from us.  They lust for the blood of all outsiders polluting what they regard as their land, this bit of war torn soil between Black and Thunder rivers.  We're too far south to be troubled by the Cimmerians so it would be Pict.  Unless..." and he spat again.  "Some noble would make trouble for Baron Trejanus here."

He might have said more before the soldier came up to them.  Straightening up Abdul shrugged.  "Come on then soldier," he nodded to Darakyn.  "Time to earn our keep."  Abdul smiled and winked at Fan-Hee.  "We'll see you soon enough lady of the exotic east."

Turning to the soldier Abdur followed.

Fanny nods her head, affirming that she was indeed with the group of scholars. She seems pleased that she stands out from the brothers, but her reply is cut off much to her disappointment by the Baron's man. She gestures a goodbye with a muted wave and steps aside submissively as the men march off. Longingly she stares after them wishing that she could go along.

I'll bet its about the missing cargo. Of course I'll be stuck right here as usual. she muses. "Right when things were getting interesting too." she fusses as she dutifully grabs the next garment in her basket.

As she prepares to scrub she takes notice of the confident looking woman with the horse. Fanny watches the woman for some time before she speaks. "So you are a hunter then?" she asks in perfect Shemitish.

The Baron's man pauses, turning back to the nomad cleaning the hooves of her horse. "Hunter?" he asks, looking her up and down. "You come, too, then."

The nomad began to brush her horse, shrugging in reply. "In the desert, everyone is a hunter, if they want to eat. And a warrior, if they want to stay alive." She stopped to scratch the horse under the chin, thinking to herself, "And sometimes, an exile, if they want to avoid marrying a fat city prince with a fine steel bride price."

At the man-at-arms' command, she shot a exaggerated glare towards Fan-Hee, thanking the Khitain for volunteering her for duty. It is quickly replaced with a smile and a wink as she tossed the brush to the other woman. "Extra duty for you, as well."

The man-at-arms walks ahead of the trio toward the Baron's residence and headquarters, a single-story rectangular structure near the center of the fort. He looks back occasionally to ensure the others haven't lost their way behind him. The fort isn't crowded, per se, but sometimes people enlisted for duties have a way of wandering off when you're not looking.

Fanny catches the brush against her chest and stammers, "But... But... hey wait!" Clearly nobody was paying her any mind. It occurs to her suddenly that unless she wanted to be on that tough looking lady's bad side she would have to take the horse in tow. She groans at the realization and glares at her new charge with uncertainty.

"What am I going to do with you?" Reaching out an unsteady hand she slowly takes it by the reigns and soothes, "Nice Horsey. Don't bite me..."

He leads the three into the squat, simple building, which is decorated slightly more nicely inside than any other fort building you've seen, given the Baron's presence and involvement. Other men-at-arms stationed at doorways nod as their comrade passes, recognizing that the small party is with him -- and looking you all over as you pass.

Soon, you are in the presence of Baron Trejanus. Initially seated at a large though somewhat rustic desk, he rises, smiling to approach you. "Welcome!" he says, extending his hand in greeting. "I am the Baron Trejanus. Thank you for responding to my invitation."

It had seemed more like a command than an invitation to Darkyn, but he'd been a soldier long enough now to know not to speak up. He just saluted and came to attention.

"Sir! Yes, sir!" just like the drill instructor had taught him.

Abdur glanced around the room and immediately recognized the baron.  He didn't salute but took the Baron's offered hand and returned the handshake.  "Thank you Baron, we understand that there might be some excitement brewing.  A little excitement is preferred to sitting around dicing."

The Man at arms named Epeus, had just come of guard duty. A few hours of walking the battlements of the fort with his bill. The only view was the distant trees, that seemed to always be watching him and his mates, in silent disapproval, for their temerity of invading the forest.

 Just as Epeus was heading for the barracks to get cleaned up, one of the Sergeants, stopped him, and informed the man at arms, he was required at some sort of meeting, and to make haste. The man hardly had time to stop by the armory to secure his bill, then double time it toward the place of the meeting.

 Epeus was headed for the residence where the Baron resided, and wondered if he had done something so wrong, it was the Baron that would pass judgement upon him. Never in his life, did he think, a resident of Tarantia’s slums, would end up in the same room with a noble, let alone a Baron. He was ushered into the building by the guard and was directed to a room with others from the fort.

 The man at arms was late to the party, as he came stomping into the room still  garbed for guard duty, sweaty and smelly. One look at everyone that stared at him, as he made his grand, and tardy entrance, Epeus, knew he was late, and looked a mess. But he did his best to put on the best face he could. The man at arms came to attention. “ Reporting as ordered, Sir…Err.. Milord... Sir.”

"Ah. You've arrived," the Baron says, as Epeus enters. "I'm glad the Sergeant found you." He turns his attention back to the party of three not in his employ.

He looks at each one in turn before addressing you again, and you are able to look at him longer -- and not from a distance -- than you have been able to be before. "I need your help. As you know, Fort Drethil is a new fortification on the edge of what was once wilderness. And I am a new Baron.

"And, as you might have heard, our supply train is late. It hasn't yet arrived. Now, normally, that wouldn't be a concern." He shrugs lightly before smoothing the fabric of his tunic, leaning against the edge of his desk. "We can, in fact, go several more weeks without new food or supplies. But..." His eyes drift to Epeus.

"My men cannot go without their pay if we are to keep the peace in the fort and against the wilds outside these walls. And my men's pay -- contained in a strong box -- was also among those supplies that have yet to arrive. Without that, I have few options. So I turn to you."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:15, Tue 30 June 2020.

The Shemite had kept quiet while the baron made his introductions, assuming that he, like most nobles, preferred the sound of his own voice hers. And, as the old proverb went, "You can learn more by listening to the desert than by talking to it."

The mercenary perked up at the talk of the payroll, though. "Assuming your strong box contains enough funds to cover my meager fee, I would not refuse your offer of employment."

Abdur regarded the baron and nodded in approval.  The noble was manly, straightforward and confident much as were the chieftains of his own people.  He looked around at the two men and the woman who had come into the room with him.  "I'll gladly seek the raiders that seized the caravan.  Do you think it is Picts or a civilized foe." He paused.  "Why send us though, strangers rather than your own men?"

The Baron turns his eyes to Abdur, his gaze passing over the nomad as he nods subtly. "If my men-at-arms and mercenaries knew that my cash flow was so precarious, their faith in this... relatively dangerous experiment at the edge of the wilderness might wane," he says soberly. "They cannot know of this pinch in my... finances, lest our stability -- or perceived stability -- falter."

His eyes then turn to Epeus. "This one alone do I trust not to endanger the step up my patronage and employment might offer him."

He pauses to gather his thoughts. "I do not know for sure that it was the Picts, but that's a reasonable suspicion," he says. "I expect whatever happened... happened to the east, perhaps along the road from the east, toward Aquilonia."

"Is that where the wagon was coming from?"

Darkyn has not been stationed here long enough to know the usual routines of such things.

Then another thought struck him.

"Stealing food and supplies is something the Picts might do, but a payroll? That's a more civilized crime, and implies that someone knew about the shipment and when to expect it. Who did know about the shipment other than you?

"My lord," he managed to squeeze in at the end.

"Yes, it was coming along the Kings Road," he says. "My quartermaster knew of the incoming supplies, but no one other than my steward and bursar knew about the strongbox. It contains a modest sum, hardly worth targeting for a crime, and I trust my close staff impeccably.

"If you agree to this... errand, and return the strongbox intact to me, I will remunerate you each with 10 golden lunas and a letter of recommendation." His eyes take you each in, in turn, gauging your reaction and commitment to the cause.

Abdur regarded the baron evenly as they spoke.  The hillmen of the Himelayas were fierce and rowdy proponents of freedom and even their chiefs worked to maintain the respect of the free men and women in the villages.  "Mercenaries and soldiers value their silver."  He nodded.  "I'll aid you in the task and keep my mouth shut.  Were the soldiers escorting the wagon trustworthy as well?  What do you know of them?"

Darakyn nodded his agreement with the offer and listened as Abdur asked his question.

Following the Baron's response, the soldier will ask if they may requisition horses to ride out along the Road of Kings to search for the missing wagons. He also looked around at the others gathered in the room.

"Do any of us have skills for hunting and scouting?" he asked. "We will need to follow trails, I expect, and look for hidden signs."

His own skills were more along the hit it hard until it stops moving vein of things, but even in his short time in the army he had seen scouts follow trails across trackless deserts, and had a high regard for them.

"I appreciate that," he says. "The merchant transporting the goods is trustworthy enough, for all I know. With Fort Schondara and Fort Thandara nearby, dishonesty would be a career-limiting behavior, at least in the Westermarck."

Abdur nods slowly.  "I can ride and track.  I have served as mounted and scout afoot.  My skills do not match the Picts in their own forest but I can manage."  He met the eyes of the baron for a moment.  "Good, treachery is the worst of failings."

He looked to the others. "We'd best waste no more daylight.  We may need food and sundry supplies Baron if we are going to be out for a few days.  If you can spare a bow it would be helpful as well."

"A fine enough offer, my lord." The Shemite answered. "Confidentiality is included in your price, of course. I'll even provide my own horse and bow, with no extra charge." She mercenary paused for a moment, as if considering something important.

"If I may suggest," She began, "The Khitai girl... Feng Shui? Something like that. In any case, she has shown herself to have knowledge that my prove useful for our task, without the... inscrutable motives of her elders." It wasn't true, of course. At least as far as Shaharazara knew. But the girl deserved a chance to make her own fate before her elders bound her irrevocably to their own traditions.

 The man at arms seemed at a loss. At what he was hearing." Scuse me, m'Lord, are we Royal Army types included in that bounty you offered?"

"Of course, Epeus. You will receive a bounty, too, if the party succeeds," the baron says. "Unfortunately, with supplies such as they are, I cannot arm or equip you beyond your current means." -- he shrugs slightly -- "But perhaps the trading post or smithy will have what you need. As for this Khitai you mention. If you need to add one or two more to the party to be effective, you may do so. I rely on your discretion, however. They needn't be as informed as you are."

He pauses, checking the day's light from a narrow window high in the wall. "Whatever you do, I would leave soon. Daylight's burning, and time is of the essence."

Abdur took the lack of aid in terms of weapons and equipment in stride.  A man made due with what he had and no more anyway.  "Well then Baron, we're off for it."  He looked around at the others.  "Let's gather up this Khitan girl if she's come and not be a burden and seek the caravan's fate."

Fanny's heart was heavy. Gently stroking the muzzle of her new friend, intended to be soothing for the beast but curiously effective for herself, she wrestled with a hard decision. Fear of the unknown,  the boredom and drudgery of her situation, loyalty to and the kindness of her brothers, the desire to prove she had something more to offer this world. All these forces pulled on her heart at once and she was rapidly running out of time to decide.

Feeling that she had dawdled too long she obeys the compulsion to start moving again. "Come on." she urges the horse and leads it away.

She hadn't come to any conscious decision yet, however she walks right past the turn to take her back home. She gazes far down the road as she passes as if looking for something, a sign maybe, a glimpse of something that might anchor her life here. Her heart pounds as she moves on. Was it excitement? fear of being caught and facing another scolding? No this was something different. Her face full of determination she quickens her pace, maybe she could still catch them.

(The Game Map shows you the region, roughly.)

 Epeus  came to attention, then saluted the Noble, turned and marched out of the house. The next stop was to the barracks to gather up his gear, then the armory for his weapons.

 The man at arms, hoped he could draw rations for this task set upon him by the Baron. No telling how long they might be  out of the fort.

Darakyn is ready to head out. A chance to do something other than dig ditches or walk a guard rotation is fine with him. He doesn't have a horse, but he's happy to walk. Anything for a change of pace and a relief to the monotony of fort life.

He fetches his pack and weapons and is ready in minutes.

 Epeus mustered to where the group was supposed to meet. He wore what armor protection was offered to a lowly man at arms. He had on a pack that contained a few personal items, thre days cooked rations, a blanket, tinder box, etc. A water skin was slung over a shoulder. He wore a short sword, dagger, and had his Bill.

Abdur traveled light and always had his weapons on him.  He diverted briefly to grab his light pack with a bit of food and water skin before heading outside the baron's building to join the others.  "Well then, let's be off.  We'll follow the road a bit but will need to stay wary of the casual or planned ambush of course."

Jehungir grabbed the gear that he had, following in with the others. "Let's be off, then."

Shahara performed a bow to the baron that seemed to involve her hands more than her waist, and made her way outside, where she saw Fan-Hee leading her horse timidly in their direction. She strode boldly and grabbed Amanisinaya's reins to lead her towards the stable.

"Bad news, girl." She said to Fan-hee, "The baron requested, nay he demanded that you accompany us and provide your keen insight into the disappearance of his supplies." The Shemite entered the stable and quickly lay a blanket and a light saddle over the horses back, cinching everything into place with practiced speed. "Just supplies, mind you," She continued, "I have it on good authority that the fort's payroll was not stolen along with the valuable flour and liquor and what not the wagon was carrying."

She gathered up a few belonging from where it looked like she had been living herself inside the stable. Along with various supplies she placed in the horses saddlebags, a short sword was tied to her hip, and a quiver on her back alongside and exotic looking bow. Shaharazara mounted her steed, holding a short lance under her arm.

"Well, girl? Are you coming, or should I fetch your washboard for you before I go?"

Fanny accepts the bad news with astonishment. "Yes! yes, I am coming. Look!", she holds her arms out to display her traveling attire and shows Shaharazara a little spin. In addition to her silken attire consisting of a high-necked long blue jacket, and embroidered trousers she wears a black wide-sleeved hooded robe. In her hand is a road stained quarterstaff that looks like its seen more time as a walking stick than as a weapon. Various bulges beneath her robes indicate hidden gear or parcels and a set of three hand bells, stuffed with wadding to prevent them from chiming, hanging from her simple woven belt.

"Wow. Did the Baron really request, no, demand that I come? Surely one of the brothers would suit better, but maybe his instincts knew better than to try. They would have politely turned him down." she happily chatters as she follows the Shemmite hunter around like an excited puppy.

It's quite a rag tag group that starts out along the Road of Kings. Darakyn smiles shyly at the women as they banter with one another, wishing he had learned to talk easily like that, but happy just to be doing something different for a change.

His gaze wanders along the trail ahead of them, thrilling at the idea that this road leads all the way across the empire to legendary Aghraphur on the shores of the Inland Sea.

The party hasn't even reached Augustus Bridge when the smell of rotting bodies reaches the nostrils of those in the front ranks. You are perhaps 300 yards away from the bridge.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:54, Fri 10 July 2020.

 It had been some time, since Epeus Had done a road march. But the constant drilling and walking a post, had keep him in decent physical condition. It was rather a pleasant thing to escape the confines of the fort, and the constant same routines.

 As he marched along, his Bill rested on his shoulder, the wind shifted, and death stench of death was upon it. There was nothing like the aroma of battle. A mixture of iron from blood, piss and shyt, that made a horrific stench .” Do ye all smell it? Death is upon the road this day. I think we might have found the fate of those that we seek.”

Abudr greets Fan-Hee as she joins them.  "I think the baron didn't care who we brought along.  There may be something that you can identify for us along the way."  Otherwise he focused on scouting their way and at the smell of the rotting bodies threw up his hand in warning.

"Death indeed.  Ready your weapons just in case." He moved forward cautiously.

Fanny grips her staff tightly and draws courage from the safety it affords while at the same time trying to hide her offended nose in the nook of her elbow. She feels safe being behind the front line and not having to be the first one to confront whatever was ahead of them, whether it be foe or just a horrific scene of slaughter. But, to her dismay being in the middle of the marching order also meant those behind her were pressuring her to keep moving forward, at a pace that was uncomfortably fast for her suddenly.

Her dread of seeing what is ahead of them overcomes her curiosity and she turns her head away to one side and then another. Rather than the typical tunnel vision towards the unknown and probable danger she instead tries to focus on anything and everything but.

Chard readies his bow and nocks an arrow, holding it to the side as he follows the hillman moving towards the stench of death. He's looking for the carrion birds that will surely give away the positions of the bodies and at the same time scanning the scene carefully looking for anything that seems out of place.

By instinct he will move to place himself between any perceived source of danger and the women in the group. Just the way he was brought up.

As the party approaches the bridge, carrion birds take flight in a rustle of wings and sudden motion. Bodies, of men and of beasts of burden, are spread across the caravan trail in a haphazard manner. Something happened here. Something sudden and violent.

Abdur will advance into the scene of death and destruction to try and figure out what happened and confirm if this is indeed the missing caravan.

Chard will circle the scene at a distance of perhaps fifty paces looking for signs of who left the scene of slaughter.

"Look around, girl. Tell us what you see." Shahara said to Fan-Hee, mostly to keep her in the center of the group. She steered her horse with her knees while the nomad knocked an arrow to her bow and rode slowly around the edge of the area, searching for the tracks the bandits left.


18:04, Today: Shaharazara rolled 24 using 1d20+4.  Tracking.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:32, Sat 11 July 2020.

"These poor people. How could this happen?" Fanny laments. She was old enough and mature enough to understand that these had been dead for awhile to smell as they did, but beyond hope she begins to frantically move from corpse to corpse looking for a survivor. With a practiced eye she also takes note of the wounds she finds.


23:58, Today: Fan-Hee rolled 22 using 1d20+4.  Heal.

"Loot or revenge or both..." Abdur addressed Fan-Hee. "We need to figure out what type of weapons killed them."

As the party moves into the area of carnage, keeping Fan-Hee toward the center of the group and with Chard circling the area, you notice that most of the bodies -- apparently Aquilonians traveling west with a number of wagons originally in caravan formation -- have crude arrows protruding from them, or show signs of cuts and gashes all about their bodies.

Fan-Hee's careful ministrations to the wounded indicates that all of the men's bodies are missing a tuft of hair from their heads. They are all dead, and there are no survivors.

Shaharazara's keen attention to the area's perimeter reveals a faint trail heading west, back toward the Black River.

Abdur frowns as he looks over the bodies.  "Picts by the looks of things."

19:15, Today: Abdur Rahman rolled 17 using 1d20+4.  Spot.

Abdur also notices that the dead men are missing a tuft of hair from their heads, the hair roughly torn from the scalp, leaving a raw, red wound behind.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:23, Tue 14 July 2020.

Fanny chokes back sobs as she tries to speak. "All dead and they have been scalped." She remembered the stories the soldiers would tell her about the savages in the jungle and how they would take "trophies" from their kills. She thought the stories were exaggerated and the men were just having fun with her, but now she knew.

The girls nose returns to her elbow once more as she suppresses a gag. "I didn't find any of the attackers among the dead. They wont be moving very quickly if they have the supplies, their dead, and their wounded in tow."

"I'm no phisicker," muses Chard, "but these bodies are starting to rot. They've been dead at least a day or two to get this stinky."

 The man at arms took in the scene and shook his head." Those that did this shall pay, and pay in blood."

 Epeus looked around at the others. "Does anyone have an axe? We need wood for the pyre. While some gather wood, the rest of us can collect the fallen  into a pile."

"Big funeral pyre will make a heck of a lot of smoke," says Chard. "Anyone over that way," he points in the direction the faint trail leads, "will know we have found their ambush site and be warned we are on their trail.

"I don't like leaving the dead untended, and I think we must come back here, but for now, if we have any hope of catching who did this we do not alert them that we are on their trail."

Abdur shook his head.  "There is no time to bury the dead.  Let us avenge them and wash away our anger with the blood of the Picts."  He looks over to where Darakyn pointed.  "We need to go and go quickly while the trail is fresh enough."

Fanny shows her agreement with Abdur by quickly trotting over to him. She turns to look over her shoulder and slows to check if anyone was following.

Nervously she asks, "Abdur, there are so many dead. Do you really think we have the numbers to take revenge? we might end up like them."

Sharazara sat astride her horse, looking to the trail leading west. "If our culprits aren't Picts, they are putting a lot of effort into convincing us that they are." she said, "We had best follow as quickly as we can. If they cross out of the duke's territory,  it would be folly to pursue them into their own lands."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:13, Fri 17 July 2020.

 The soldier did not like the idea of leaving the gallent dead to the mercy of scavangers. But they had a point, damn their eyes.
"Did anyone look for prints on the edge of the cover these poxy bastards used for cover? Be the prints Pict Moccasins, or shoes or boots. That will tell use better of who did the deed."

"Shaharazara's noticed a faint trail heading west, back toward the Black River," says Chard. "If we follow along we may find places with well defined footprints. And we may find the bandits who did this. Picts or brigands, they deserve a swift death. Maybe not at our hands, but we can see where they came from and perhaps lead others back to overwhelm them. Show them who rules along the banks of the Black River!"

The young soldier has built himself into quite a foment by the end of his little speech and he realizes he is shouting and looks red-faced and  embarrassed at the others. He hides his emotions by turning away.

Abdur turned to Fan-hee as she approached.  "The Picts struck from ambush so their numbers may be less than you think.  We will have to work with stealth and surprise for certain or we may indeed end up dead."  He gathered himself up and walked over to the trail. "Let us follow then.  They are loaded with loot and will move more slowly and leave more of a trail."

He listened to Darakyn and nodded after a moment.  The desire for revenge was one near and dear to Abdur's fierce heart.  "Revenge for sure Aquilonian," he growled at the warrior.  "Keep the flames of anger alive for the battle."

(Is the party agreed to continue on, to follow the trail as able?)

OOC: I am agreed to follow the trail

Abdur looked at the others and then headed along the trail.  "Come along then Fan-Hee and stay close."

OOC: Yes!

Those on horses soon find that they are unable to follow the party along the trail into the woods.

Chard does not have a horse, but he realizes they cannot just leave the horses they do have and even if they leave someone to watch them, that person would be an easy target in the wild.

He is also reluctant to abandon the trail.

"How long would it take those on horses to ride back to tell the baron what we have fond and then come back on foot to pick up the trail?" he wonders.

"Ahk!" The Shemite cursed, "Derketo take these woods to her seraglio!" as she fought to find a pathway through the deepining forest. She turned to the others, "Keep watch for sign of a settler's compound. I could pay for shelter there for Amansinaya while we proceed on foot."

Abdur frowned as the horse slowed them.  Still, he understood Shaharazara's desire to keep her horse nearby; his own people valued their tough mountain horses equally.  "I fear that the Picts will have well avoided any settler's holding in their flight."

 Epeus thought the issue with the horses was amusing. But he did become serious, when he spoke. ,"IF they are Picts. What need, have those savages, with a strongbox?"

The horses, and therefore party, move somewhat slowly and noisily through the woods and brush following the faint trail tracked by Shaharazara. The light in the woods becomes more dim as they get further from the road and bridge and the foliage thickens.

20:09, Today: Epeus rolled 5 using 1d20.  Spot roll.

Chard does his best to clear the way for those that follow as the undergrowth presses in on the trail.

Chard slowly pulls his sword out and hisses at the others.

"Incoming!" he says, nodding at movement he can see in the undergrowth.

He prepares himself to receive an enemy.

 Epeus Shifted his bill of of his shoulder, and assumed a fighting stance with the weapon.

Shaharazara pulled an arrow from her quiver and put it to her bowstring. She looked around in all directions, trying to find the foe the Aquilonian warned about.


18:18, Yesterday: Shaharazara rolled 7 using 1d20+6 with rolls of 1.  Spot.

Abdur moved cautiously expecting danger. When Chard called out he whipped out his sword and stepped to the side to spoil any aim.

20:12, Today: Abdur Rahman rolled 15 using 1d20+4.  Spot.

Already feeling rather tense Fanny cringes down into a squat and holds her staff tight against her chest when Chard calls out his warning. She cant help but let out a high pitched squeal as she does so.