They shrug. they seem to used to hardship and to make do. The mention of shipping is received with befuddlement. Vermillion whispers in your ear 'as far as I know, no major rivers or seas where they come from'.

Farming, as could be expected from nomads is seems as a bit of an insult. Now herdsmen, that's something they can understand. you even an enthusiastic but rambling speech, you only half understand it but they were seemingly talking of their fine herds. At that point they seem to willing to part with some goats and sheep and offer them to your caravan.

No rivers at all? Wow, that's strange. They must be from the deep desert! I can't imagine in a land with no rivers that has people living in it.

Everyone would welcome fresh meat, I think, so if the nomads want silver in exchange for the animals, I can offer it. They might be offering a gift, though, which of course I will do my best to accept graciously.

It is a gift. You are the first noble that actually took the time to stop and speak with them. In other cities they have passed, they only saw armed guards trying to get them moving. In fact, you made such an impression that they invite you and your caravan to join them. They seem to be in no particular rush to go anywhere and so are quite content to stop for a feast.

Well, that's just rude of all those nobles! Hospitality is one of the most important duties of any good person. Even if they can't allow the caravan and the people to stay for a long time, a few days of rest and making new friends is always welcome.

Of course, I welcome and am grateful for their hospitality. Not knowing their customs, I ask if I am expected to offer some of the gifted livestock as part of the feast or if that is considered rude. I try to be open, honest, and endearingly charming.

I don't demand any of my people join the feast, but I'm certainly going to. I love feasts! They're my favorite kind of party!

People continue to arrive as a large circle is cleared out for the feast. Vermillion advises you to get something symbolic as a gift, something for all of them, it does not need to have high value, it just needs to be something from you, rather then some generic gift. Easier said than done he concludes.

At some point music starts to be played, it's a sort of a rather rhythmic and entrancing melody played with some sort of brass instruments that you had never seen before. Randulf sighs and says 'at least it's not drums' whilst his sister disagrees with him, she quite likes the music being played. They start bickering as one of the elvish scouts approaches. With a dry 'it's going to be a good day for the feast' he then mentions that there was unknown movement north of the camp site. They scouted, found some traces of animals and people, and concluded it could not be drow, as whoever it was was too careless, but not careless enough to have disappeared when they searched for whoever it was.

Cue on cue, the aroma of roasting meat reaches your nostrils.

When Vermillion suggested a gift, I excused myself to go invite my people to the feast. Which I did, but I also found a wooded dale to hide in, transformed into my dragon shape for a few moments, and collected some of my own scales. One for each of the tribal elders, the scales shining and harder than iron.

Dragon scales are very valuable. I've sold them to make money before, in particularly lean times. Making a habit of it would dilute their value, plus I don't shed very many. I have to heal myself with a spell after just these few, since they didn't fall off naturally. They should make good gifts, rare, beautiful, symbolic, and expensive without being extravagant. I am proud of my own scales and their crimson mirror sheen. I don't say they're mine, of course.

I make sure at least a few of my people are standing watch, rotating in and out during the feast, because that scout report sounds awfully suspicious.

I dance and feast, enjoying both while also being polite and a good guest. I naturally gravitate towards the prettier girls and young men to dance with, but I also offer dances to the older, more socially important people, to be graceful and charming.

Your gifts were received with true awe. They knew what it was, albeit they had never seen real ones, much less have one. You have made some friends with these tribes. Even if you get the feeling they think you are a much bigger rules than you really are. Much more after your gift.

The party goes through the day and through the night. At first light, the music suddenly stops and the tribes start some sort of chant. A slightly tipsy Vermillion assumes that is to greet the dawn. At the end of the chant there's a huge collective scream and people start the 'party end' process.

At the same time you can see a gathering forming and then parting. With one of your elf scouts ahead, what seems like a humanoid is approaching. He's dressed in furs, with the head covered in the skin, antlers included, of a large moose type creature. Given the fact he's escorted by a bunch of wolves, the crowds naturally part to let him through.

Without you even noticing it, the other elf scout appears by your side. 'It was him that was scuttling from the north. He wants to speak with the assembly of leaders...'

Well I am the biggest ruler there is! Physically.

By lands and wealth I might be a count.

I couldn't party all night, lacking the endurance and alcohol tolerance for that. I was tired some time past midnight and begged off to retire and sleep. When the message came in the morning, and the wild man, I arose, groggy and bleary-eyed.

Given little time, I brush my hair, put on a simple dress, and go to meet the obvious druid. It is never smart to ignore the wise men of the woods, for they know secrets as ancient as the stones themselves.

OOC But when is a druid not a druid?

You sit at the edges of an impromptu assembly. Much like you, some of the elders are worse for wear. With the tribes getting ready to move, the stranger has a chance to say his piece. He introduces himself as a nomad, a child of the world with no lord not land. He had a strange dream. Something he never had before. He dreamt of the tribes he was now seeing and of whatever it was they were running (seemingly not too fast) from. In this dream, he saw things by the eyes of this meaning figure. As he told the assembly, 'In the depths of despair, I emerge from the night, A figure so dark, instilling endless fright. With magic and sorcery, I control the land, All bow before me, as I seize command. Who am I, this ruler so vile?'

This quickly brought the conversation to it's crux and to what he wanted to know.

There was visible discomfort in the assembly at all of this. The atmosphere of merriment was now well and truly gone. The elders all had fine words but, as Randulf and Cristene at your side noted, nobody actually answered the question.

Oh it's been my turn the whole time. Whooooopsie doodle.

I cheerfully venture, "Is that a riddle? It sounds like a necromancer to me. Maybe even a lich, which would be really bad."

I keep myself in good spirits and hope that my charisma will lift others up into a better mood. People follow those who inspire them, after all.

The elders offer little more that is of any value. The assembly quickly comes to an end and the newcomer starts to make his way north again. The camp is breaking really fast and they are now assembling their own caravans to leave, some have already departed west.

Vermillion stays puzzled during all of the exchange and after. He eventually mulls 'None of this makes great sense. In these lands we pay little attention to what happens in the east. I wonder if we are about to pay the price for that...'

"Hold, stranger! Stay with us and explain what you mean!" I call after the wild man.

To Vermillion, I say, "There is an old saying from an ancient Eastern book that a merchant and explorer once told me: 'Unity succeeds division and division follows unity. One is bound to be replaced by the other after a long span of time. This is the way with things in the world.'"

I look to the horizon, eastward.

"It seems to me that a time of unity is soon to come upon us, whether we realize or want it or not. If a great conqueror rises, so too will an empire, and the petty kings and city-states of the West will unite, either in an empire of their own or under the conqueror's banner."

I shrug, then.

"Or maybe a new religion? Who knows?"

EDIT: Forgot color on my first speech line.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:34, Tue 26 Mar.

The odd man looks dubiously at you, almost as if in disbelief that anyone called him. His face them assumes a neutral expression as he states as a matter-of-fact. 'You're not an eastern nomad...'

"I am not, but I am going East. Then, when I return, I will likely have to prepare for the invasion of this conquering horde everyone seems afraid of. So, I would like to learn more about your ominous warnings and, perhaps, from you. Who you are and why you are here."

'I had a dream... something bad was coming our way... I get these dreams, sometimes they are wrong, sometimes they are right... I never know... I left my people long ago, having foreboding dreams about your family and friends is not something you want to live with... out here, there are only the animals and they don't seem to feature in my dreams... I was confused by my dream, in it there was a mighty horde that would come, I thought they were it...' (points at the nomads) '...I had to see if they were or not...'

"They were running from a mighty horde, or so they said. If they are indeed warriors, they have many children and elderly among them and few weapons; they play a very long game of deception in that case. I will not demand that you come with me or explain yourself. I will only ask. I am seeking more knowledge and understanding of magic and older mysteries, and a dream-prophet could certainly have much insight."

Belated Happy Easter!

He visibly hesitates, seeming very much a man that flows his won road, it could explain his reluctance. 'Where will the road lead you to?' he asks.

Plainly and honestly, "To a cavern and ancient site in the high desert, and from there hopefully somewhere else."

He looks at the horizon and then at the departing nomads. 'Lead the way then...'

And you get a feeling that, if the nomads are heading west, he would be heading east in any case...

And so we go! Back on the road!

I chat him up, trying to be brief and probably failing, introducing myself and attempting to extract his name, origin, and that sort of information. If he's going to be traveling with us, we should at least know who he is! Then we can teach him to play cards.

Or tables. I much prefer tables. That's a game only wealthy people tend to know how to play, though.

I dunno what else to say!

OOC - That's fine, if when I leave a post you feel there's nothing to add, just feel free to say so in an OOC line and we'll move on!

Turns out his name is Darius and (surprisingly) he's from Cathyr, a large city in the south, capital of Dambrath. As he explains, it's an oppressively hot place, a very busy city at the end of the Trader's Way. He seems rather glad to see the back of it, you detect no hint of regret but, it seems odd that someone from Cathyr would end up living with a pack of wolves in a desolated plain in the far north. Darius clearly has no desire to engage with the world...

OOC - I'm gonna make a thread with all of the NPCs. Got it in a file but finding a way to copy the formatting is proving beyond me.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:20, Wed 10 Apr.

Heat has never bothered me in the least, but I prefer the cold. I find it invigorating. I ask Darius more about himself, getting him to talk about how he came to be where he is, why he made the decisions he did, and so forth. That's how you win hearts and minds, by prompting people to talk about their favorite things. For most people, their favorite thing is themselves, but for Darius, it might be something else. Like wildlife. I'm sure I can sus it out.

The days progress slowly as the caravan makes its slow way. Winter can already be felt and there are mornings where the cold, mist and wind make for some rather miserable days of travelling. Fortunately, Gilmartin proved to be quite the professional and he manages to keep the caravan moving irrespective of weather or moods. Traffic almost disappears the further east you travel.

Darius turns out to be quite the story teller and regularly treats the caravan to tales of his travels through the wilds of the north. Your hear of people and beasts that none of you have every heard about. You also hear of the drow and their ominous presences in the lands you are now leaving. Speaking of them, you never again hear or see them again. Your scouts, ever the pessimists, think they keeping tabs and will wait until the caravan returns hoping to not only get you but also whatever goods you bring with you from the east.

You have just arrived at a crucial pi8nch point. To the south, the Los Peaks tower over the edge of the High Forest. To the north, the bogs of the Evermoors, land of trolls, goblins and whatever nastiness the world can produce. As you make camp, Gilmartin approaches and notes that you are maybe 3 days away from Everlund, your destination at the edge of the Nether Mountains. He mentions to you that, this is the most dangerous part of the journey. The army of Everlund does not normally venture this far south so, brigands, trolls, gnomes, rogue dwarves and what knows what else are an ever and present danger. He recommends you sharpen whatever defences the caravan may have.

I take many traveling hours to enjoy the scenery, places I have never been and wonders I have never seen. Darius's stories enrapture me; the exotic and amazing things he tells us about gain my rapt attention.

I reassure Gilmartin that I am, in fact, a dragon. I do not dismiss his concerns, though, and instead I gather up everyone who can hold a spear and shield and establish short nightly drills in fighting as a group, responding to environment and command, and generally acting together to protect each other and fight off attackers. I also draw up a watch schedule to set pickets and do my best to ensure that everyone who already knows how to fight as equipment appropriate to their skills.

The best thing I can do for the safety of the caravan members is to ensure we take a route suited to our greatest strength: me. My true form is very big and physically powerful, which means that we should stick to open terrain as much as possible. A swamp, for example, is better than a woodland, for safety, even if it is less pleasant to travel through. Even thirty trolls, charging across open terrain, are no match at all for me, but a dozen goblins, hiding in trees, could loose poison arrows before anyone has a chance to drive them off.

OOC - some lucky rolls and...

Either by your tactics, your presence, or luck, your caravan slowly crawls along and, as Gilmartin said, you soon see the walled city of Everlund in the distance. The Nether Mountains form a picturesque background to the town. Some farms dotted the landscape on both sides of the road. The caravan traffic has notoriously increased as you close on the city. Gilmartin says that you have some coin ready. You will enter the town by the Downriver Gate and, if you want to stay inside the walls overnight, there will be some payment for the caravan. It's their way to control traffic into the city. And make some money of course.