OOC: I'm not expecting any roleplay on this post -- it's just getting you all to the starting point, so don't feel like you have to reply here.  Consider it the open cut scene.


Klevan's time at Tobias and Sons Exocita Imporium and Daredevil Acrobat Carnival has come to an end.  In his heart of hearts, Kleven knew it to be true, despite any attachment he held to the place he'd called home since childhood.  There simply no new stories to discover, only new audiences.  And even that was running thin, with this, the seventh circuit around Tal'dorei.

And so it was that he found himself in Emon, at the famous skyport, waiting for the ship which would take him westward to the continent of Wildemount -- to the lands which still bore the scars of the Calamity.  Of particular interest to Klevan was the story of the Arbor Exemplar -- a single magnificent tree rumoured to exist in the Barbed Lands.

The Moon Chaser was a gorgeous ship, all warm wood and pale sail, and the thrum of the brumestones at the bow and stern, were nearly powerful enough to make his bones ache.  Gold filigree in a distinctly elven pattern adorned the skyship's hull.  The captain, a tabaxi dressed in a flamboyant style which would not have been out of place in the circus, stood at the bow, looking over the horizon as the last of the cargo was loaded.  Nearby, the first mate stood at the bottom of the gangplank, checking passenger tickets.

The passengers themselves were a mixed lot.  There were the usual business types, many of whom hovered over their individual cargo like mother birds protecting a fledging, to the vast an obvious annoyance of the crew.  There was little the merchants could do about it, as the cargo was hauled up in a n=huge net by way of crane, and lowered somewhere in the hold.  The ship would dip slightly with the increased weight, and the brumestones would shine a little brighter, and the shift would rise to the appropriate level once more.

There were a couple of other passengers who didn't fit the merchant mold, equipped for adventure as they were.  Klevan marked them for watching; storied tended to happen around these people.  The first was a young woman in gleaming chainmail and a blue surcoat with the emblem of the Platinum Dragon emblazoned on the front.  A massive great sword hung over one shoulder, and her face tugged at Klevan's memory. [Private to Sir Klaven Bobcat Ellis: Up to you whether you want to recognise Hannah's face from your childhood adventures in her manor house.]


Hannah had worried about wearing the chainmail for this part of the trip.  The armour was heavy, and she worried about the message it would send to her fellow travelers, like she was expecting trouble.  But as she stood on the platform at Emon's skyport, she was grateful for the warmth -- it probably came more from the padded waistcoat she wore beneath the chain, but the wind was strong and cold up here and would be stronger and colder still as they rose into the sky.  She had worried about the cost of the trip at first, but Speaker Tassarion at Honour's Rest had assured her the matter was taken care of.  The funds for the voyage would be covered by the temple's coffers.

She hadn't been given a specific destination to start her quest, but the temple had not raised any objections to sending her to Wildemount.  The worship of the Betrayer Gods was rumoured to be strong far to the east, and Bahamut's message could do much good in those troubled lands.


The last of the cargo loaded, the door to the hold were closed and the crane returned to its resting position.  The captain checked a timepiece in his pocket, and gave a shrill whistle.  The first mate straightened from checking yet another ticket and called out, "All aboard!  Last call!  All aboard!"

Stepping on the gangplank and then the deck of the ship, the thrum of power in the brumestones could be felt in the legs and spine as a quiet vibration.  Within moments, this awareness faded into the background as a simple constant.  The gangplank was withdrawn, and the ship shoved away from the mooring posts with long poles by the crew.  As soon as the ship was clear, the brumestones gave a deep vibrating hum, and the ship began to rise slowly.  At some point the wings -- great white sails attached to the side of the ship, unfurled, and the ship began to pick up speed as it caught more wind.

"Welcome aboard the Moon Chaser," a throaty feline voice called from the upper deck.  "I'm your captain, and my name is Cloudrunner."  The captain stood barefoot on the railing between the upper deck and the lower.  "We're three days' travel from Whitestone, and then four more to Wildemount and our destination of Port Damali.  I'll ask ye to stow ye're belonging securely in ye're cabins, and then ye're free to move about the ship as ye wish.  The crew all have their jobs to to do, so be don't be disturbin' them any.  If we hit a patch o' bad wind or rain, I'd ask ye to stay inside.  We don' need to be losin' no more passengers over the side."  Her speech apparently done, the captain leapt down over the railing and disappeared into her own quarters.


The voyage to Whitestone was uneventful.  Clear skies which grew progressively colder as the ship traveled north and west.  Occasionally snowcapped mountains could be seen through gaps in the cloud cover beneath them, and on the third day, the rustic city of Whitestone could be seen in the distance.


The particular spell component Humu needed could not be found anywhere in Westruun.  It seemed it could be found anywhere on Tal'dorei.  He'd asked nearly every merchant he could find, great or small, from the local shopkeeps at Gilmore's, down to every wagon-pushing street merchant he could find.  No one seemed to carry Vermaloc bark anywhere.  Vermaloc wood, sure -- carved and fashioned into furniture or knick-knacks at various sizes -- and all exceedingly expensive, but not Vermaloc bark.  It seemed the only way for him to get some would be to travel to Xhorhas -- on the eastern side of Wildemount -- and carve it from the tree himself!

The trip to Whitestone was Westruun took almost nine days in the saddle, following the Parchwood Way to Turst Fields, where half the caravan split to head west to Drynna while the remainder headed north along what once had been the Alabaster Trail, but was now the Silvercut Roadway.  The trip wasn't entirely without incident, but nothing more serious than a broken axle or a wheel stuck in a rut.

Whitestone's skyport was situated in the southern ward, which had been built to accommodate the growing population to Whitestone, some of whom were refugees from Emon that had never returned.  Built almost entirely from the white stone that gave the city its name, the spire gleamed in the sunset, almost detracting from the absolute glory of the Sun Tree, visible in the distance.

As the caravan arrived, Humu eased gratefully out of the saddle, glad to see the back of that part of the journey, and ascended the stairs to the skydock.  The cargo from the caravan intended for the Menagerie coast was lifted to the skydock by way of crane, then ported to another area of the dock where a second, smaller crane would load the cargo onto the waiting Skyship, named the Moon Chaser.  The ship already had passengers who lined both edges of the deck, looking out over the city of Whitestone and watching the new arrivals.

There were not many departures, and the first mate, a human by the name of Anrod Baldric, greeted him at the bottom of the gangplank.  "Ticket and destination, please," he said without looking up as Humu approached.  "Port Damali," the kenku replied in his teacher's voice, and handed for the ticket.  Alrod blinked at the voice, then nodded in comprehension as he saw for the first time who he was dealing with.

"Very good, sir.  Welcome aboard the Moon Chaser," he said as he stepped aside.  Humu headed up the gangplank, shifting his pack as he ascended.


The trip to Port Damali was peaceful.  By day the birds swooped around the ship, sometimes come for a rest on the railings or the sails, other times following in the wake of the skyship, taking advantage of the slipstream it created.  Twice it rained heavily and the captain confined everyone but the crew to their quarters for the duration.  On the morning of the fourth day, the seaside city of Port Damali appeared down to the east, sparkling like a jewel against the backdrop of mountains, lakes, and the verdant woodlands.  Hundreds of seafaring vessels of different sizes dotted the bay beneath them as they approached, and the ship docked at the skyport with ease.

The skyport at Port Damali was clearly older than the one at Emon and Whitestone.  The timber was old, but highly polish to a warm gleam.  Reflecting the different climate of the Menagerie Coast, this skyport was covered with a golden sailcloth, which gave shelter from the sun, and funneled the wind through the passageway to combat the humidity of the region.

Stairs led down to the docks along the Larboard Light district, where the passengers were able to secure transport further south to Nicodranas aboard a fast clipper called The Demandelion.

The first stop on the journey south was at Feolinn, where a few passengers got off, and one more joined.


Shera stood in the dockside district, waiting for her ship to come in.  Behind her, she could hear the cries of hawkers for the restaurant district on Suamalie Way, which stretched out along the shoreline to give diners the best view of the water.  She already missed her shop -- she thought of it as hers, despite the fact that it was her father's still.  It was hard not to think of the shop as home, given how much of her life had been spent with its walls.  It was the smell she missed most; the scents out here were all wrong.

She clutched her book tighter as she saw the ship coming in.  The Demandelion was to take her away from here.  To places unknown and people unmet.  To flora and fauna unseen, and which properties she might use to make something new.  That had been her father's command as he banished her.  "Go.  You've spent too much time here, and learned but not yet lived.  Go.  Improve your craft and return when you have something to contribute yourself."

[Secret to Shera Draxalia: ::Harsh, but true:: whispered a voice in her mind.  ::You cannot fulfil your bargain to me stuck in your shop.::]

After some consideration, Shera had decided to look in the Vermaloc Wildwood in the east of Xhorhas.  Much had been done with its wood, but she was interested in its leaves -- in a grey and desiccated wildland, there had to be some reason that it's leaves remained colourful and vibrant.

Shera watched as the clipper slowed as it came into port, and boarded the ship as soon as she was able.


The four-day trip from Feolinn to Nicodranas was indeed fast, but this turned out to be for the better, as twice they found themselves chased by pirate vessels.  The Demandelion was easily able to outrun the larger ships, who had to remain further out in open water.

It made a brief stop in Port Zoon, and then sped onwards further south.  Rain sprang up almost every day, but lasted only for an hour or so each time.

The fourth day dawned clear and sunny, and saw The Demandelion cruising in to Nicodranas, the southernmost port of the Menagerie Coast.

The clipper docked at one of the smaller docks on the Restless Wharf, a busy dockyard that seemed to be filled with elements of cheap entertainment.  Warehouses, small huts, buildings and cranes were tightly packed in along the wharf, and the cries of seagull and other birds filled the early morning air.  A dockmaster approached the ship as she came in and started talking with the captain, who handed over a manifest of passenger names.

An hour's walk through the town saw the group at the northern gates of Nicodranas, where a team of wagons and carts waited to set for north, through the Wuyun Gate.  The mountains on either side made a great choke point on the passage north into the Dwendalian Empire.

The caravan was stopped and searched by a group of heavily armour soldiers, but allowed to pass with only a short delay.

From the gates it was a five day journey north up the Amber Road to the city of Alfield, then another four days to Felderwin, and then a week to the fortress at Ashguard Garrison, to pass through the Ashkeeper Peaks into Xhorhas.  There were many questions from armed guards at the garrison, seeking spies from the Kryn Dynasty, but ultimately the party was allowed through.

Three days down the road saw the party to the city of Asarius, the City of Beasts, with it's white spires reaching from the ground like the rib cage of some long-forgotten primordial being.  The caravan ended its trip here, and the party overnighted in Asarius.  The next day the four adventurers set out overland, coming upon the Veramloc Wildwood over the course of next four days.

After sunset and moonrise of the fourth day, a storm blew in from the east.  Wet and bedraggled, the group stumbled into a logging camp.

[Private to Hannah Demsersk; HuMu Ninn; Shera Draxalia; Sir Klaven Bobcat Ellis: At this point, it would unreasonable to suggest that you don't know each other at least passingly well.  Maybe not each other's capabilities, but enough to have learned.  It's up to you to determine whether you divulge anything your character considers secret, like Shera's magic, but you've been together long enough to learn that Hannah's a warrior for Bahamut, Humu's a student of the arcane, Klevan's a gifted storyteller, and Shera's an alchemist.  Anything else you want to have disclosed to the group?]

---

Links and images:
The view approaching Nicodranas: https://static.wikia.nocookie....00?cb=20200707045814
Wuyun Gates: https://static.wikia.nocookie....00?cb=20200410223500
Asarius: https://static.wikia.nocookie....00?cb=20200317193419

The Blightshore was a damned place.  That wasn't a colourful turn of phrase, it was almost the literal truth.  The site of the last battle of the Calamity.  The landscape had never recovered, more than 800 years later.

Rotthold was a closely packed city, with buildings butting up against one another like a herd of animals facing a predator in the land itself.  Kursak navigated through the narrow streets as the sun set, broad shoulders sometimes scraping against the strange luminescent red moss that grew on every building here eventually.  By the time he reached the dockside district, his robes would be stained once again.

A mismatched pair of militia guards stood at the gates guarding the entrance to the dockside.  The houses and warehouses were nicer here, and farther apart, but even the wealthy and powerful could not escape the moss which crawled up every wall.

The Broken Slave was once a brig belonging to the Revelry of the Menagerie Coast, before it had been captured and taken by Myriad in one the many examples of one-ups-manship between the two organisations.  In other cities, they might have kept a low profile, but in Rotthold, they both operated openly.

Kursak approached the gangplank of the Broken Slave confidently.  A shadow detached itself from a stack of crates on the wharf and intercepted him smoothly.  "Bugger off," it said in a raspy voice that brooked no nonsense.  "You've no business 'ere."  As Kursak slowed, the shadow resolved itself into a leanly muscled half-orc, small tusks thrusting up from a large underbite.  There wasn't an ounce of fat on his body, and he looked poised for violence at half a moment's notice.

"He's fine," called another voice from on the ship.  "Favour for Cairn's Cradle."

The half-orc seemed disinclined to step aside, and continue to glare at Kursak.

The voice called down again.  "Melora's tit man, step aside," the voice called out again.  "You don't want to cross the cairners, believe me!  They'll pull out your soul, drink it for their morning tea, and set your body to watching the Pit for all eternity!"

The half-orc sniffed dismissively and pointedly looked elsewhere, making no movement to step aside, but not stopping Kursak from squeezing around him to board the gangplank.  At the top of the gangplank, the half-goliath found himself facing a stubby little gnome dressed in varying shares of grey and deep violet.  "Lotch Crayloon," he offered as he extended a hand to help Kursak from the gangplank to the deck.  "First mate.  Don't mind Tsadoc there.  He does na' like anyone.  Set yuirself down here."  The gnome gestured to an empty spot on the deck.  "And stay out of the way.  And dinnae turn yuir back on anyone.  We'll be on our way shortly."

Not for the first time, Kursak wondered if this trip would be worth it.  The masters at the Cairn's Cradle had wanted to study the root of the Vermaloc trees, wondering what helped those trees maintain their vibrancy in a land so touched by -- and so near -- so much death and destruction.  Kursak had been sent to obtain samples, so they could continue their studies.

The crew busied themselves with preparations to depart, and left Kursak alone.  Finally a series of short, sharp whistles pierced the air.  Tsadoc the half-orc stomped up the gangplank and crashed down onto the deck, his eyes sparing a hateful glance in Kursak's direction, and them moved toward the bow of the ship.  A shadow fell over Kursak and he looked up to find a female drow with a short and sharp shock of white hair peering down at him.  She was as slim as a blade, but carried herself with an undeniable air of deadly authority.

"You are my passenger this evening, yes?" she asked, her voice a razer cutting through silk.  Without waiting for a response, she offered a hand and hauled Kursak to his feet.  She was surprisingly strong.  "I am Zesstra, and this is my ship.  I do this as a favour for your masters, yes?  And in time, they -- or you -- will do my a favour."  She didn't seem to need a response.

She took Kursak by the hand and led him to the upper deck like a child, for all that he was taller than she.  "We are four days to the entrance of Fevergulf Lake, but I think we will make it in two," she said.  "There you we will take you by sloop through the lake, to the shores near the Iothia Moorland.  There we will leave you, and you return your own way, yes?  Have a care through the moorland, Cairnling.  You may be big, but there are bigger, and they will see not you, but a large snack."

She paused for a moment, as if considering, than added one more warning.  "I know you head for the Vermaloc.  Beware of the fortress of Dumaran.  If you see it, you are already lost.  If you must guess your path, choose the westernmost one always.  Better to travel longer than you must than to stray too close to Dumaran."


Captain Zesstra's prediction proved true.  The Broken Slave sailed day and night, ever westward, with the Ashkeeper Peaks looming on their starboard side like Moradin's hammer, waiting to crush them.  A storm struck the second day, with waves that lashed the ship, drenching everything in sight, and Zesstra could be heard laughing and she steered between thunderclaps and lighting strikes.

By nightfall on the second day, they had passed the Ashkeeper Peaks and sat at anchor near the entrance to a little waterway watching a small sing-sailed vessel approach.  As the smaller ship drew near, Kursak could make out its name, Splinter and see its pilot, a wizened old man who looked like he was nothing more than leathery skin stretched tight over bone and corded muscle.  He sat at the tiller, looking straight ahead while a rope ladder was lowered down the side.

"You remember my name, yes?" Zesstra said, one steel-viced hand clamping down on Kursak's wrist as began to descend.  "You remember this favour, yes?"  Her eyes dared him to deny her, and after a moment she release his hand and let him climb down.

The Splinter smelled of fish.  It smelled of years and years of fish.  The pilot, who still said nothing, even as he began to pull away from the Broken Slave, smelled of piss and wine and fish.  He just pointed to where he wished Kursak to sit, then flicked a rope which had been wound around his wrist, and the sail begun to unfurl.

Catha's silver light shone down over the water as the sloop made its way down the narrow causeway, and into the Fevergulf Lake.  From there, the sloop turned north, the old man's eyes constantly scanning the lake for dangers that only he could see.  He unfurled the sail completely, and hugged the shoreline of the lake so hard that Kursak feared they might run aground more than once.  At least if they did, he could start walking.


Crossing the lake took most of the night, but by dawn, they had set ashore on what looked like the northern part of the lake.  If he was correct, Kursak estimated he had about a day and half's walk to the nearest portion of the Vermaloc Wildwood.  He could see some of the red-and-gold treetops in the distance already.  But mindful of the warnings about Dumaran from the captain, he chose a heading that would put him on a tangent to the nearest part of the forest, and started walking.

Two days later, he exited the Moorlands, covered in mud and more insect bites than he'd ever been, and hit firm ground.  Two days after that, he hit the logging camp in the midst of a horrendous downpour which soaked him to the bone.

The caravan didn't have a name.  Not many of them did, as they were often a collection of smaller merchants who'd banded together sharing the costs of the one person who would lead the whole caravan to a shared destination.  Each merchant would contribute to the guide's costs in accordance with how many wagons they were putting into the caravan, and each merchant was responsible for hiring their own guards to protect their goods.  Not only from raiders along the road, but from the guards and drivers of other wagons.  Sabotage was no unheard of once the walls of Rexxentrum were behind them.  The merchant's names and how many guards they were looking for were posted at the gates and a representative from each merchant -- sometimes the merchant themselves -- was on hand to approve and sign the papers for each of the guards.  Generally it was a first-come, first-served kind of deal.  The safety was in the numbers more than the quality of the guards.  It was good pay, for those with no roots, or those with a pressing need to get out of the city.  So long as you got there before the Crownsguard did.

None of that applied to Frilia as she navigated through the crowds, Yukiko perched atop her pack, and occasionally spreading her wings for balance as Frilia had to jump aside whenever a big person came through without looking where they were going.  It happened often.

"I've been doing this for eight runs now!  I should get more!"  A barrel-chest human with a thick red beard shouted in the face of the representative for The Crafty Scepter, who looked entirely nonplussed about the whole deal.

"If you would like to renegotiate the rate, please do so with the proprietor.  I'm sure there will spots available for you when you return."

The red-bearded man stalked off in a huff.  Frilia watched as he approached a second merchant, presumably hoping for a better rate, or someone he could intimidate into giving him one.

Looking about, Frilia spotted the small sign with her father's logo on it and approached.  A   young human woman stood ready, with a simple slate on hand.  "Name?"

"Frilia," Frilia replied.

"Yes, I have you here," the woman said, her finger tapping the slate on which she wrote the names.  "It says here you're to receive no pay for this journey?"  Her voice rose in an obvious questioning tone, but she did not press further.

She reached into a small leather pouch at her belt withdrew a small metal disc, pressing it into Frilia's smaller hand.  "Here's your chit, and your wagon's over there."  She pointed to a small wagon with INSERT SHOP NAME HERE painted on the side.  A  young man, who looked way too young for this, sat in the driver's seat, nervously fiddling with the reins.

As she mounted the wagon and repositioned her pack and weapon so they were in easy reach, the boy cleared his throat several times and then spoke, his voice cracking.  "Hi!  I'm Morgan.  That's a very strange cat," he said, glancing at Yukiko.

The familiar was looking back along the street.  ::Look,:: her voice resonated in Frilia's mind.  ::There's the thief boy.::


Minho hurried along the wide street toward the western gate as only he could, quick and nimble as a cat, weaving in and out and between people as he went.  On any other day he might have collected half a dozen purses along the way, but today he was both hampered by pulling his brother along behind him, and focused on his destination.

Popping up to stand on a crate of apples to get his head above the crowd (and ignoring the disgruntled cry of the apple vendor), Minho plotted the best route forward through the busy street.  A glance behind him told him that he hadn't much time, with the Crownsguard soldiers just emerging from the alleyway that the brothers had darted through minutes before.

They'd been given almost no warning.  One minute he'd been in the Grim Shelf relaxing with a cold drink, and then next Chan had burst in out of breath.  "They're after you," he said between gasping breaths.  "You and your brother.  Crownsguard.  Minutes behind me."  There was only enough time to grab their ready-packs and go.

He still didn't know why the Crownsguard were after him -- okay, there might be several reasons, in fact, but why were they after Felix?  That part made no sense.  But he wasn't inclined to stick around and find out.  They needed to get out of the city for a while -- at least until the heat died down, and there was one way nearby to do that.

Approaching one of the merchant representatives, Minho snatched one of the purses which were given as advance pay to those who signed on.  He made the grab clumsy on purpose, and dropped the purse in the dirt.  As the merchant representative turned around in anger at the supposed theft, Minho bent down and picked up up, handing it back.  "Hey, you dropped this," he said with a smile.  As the merchant took the bag back with a suspicious look, Minho deftly pilfered two caravan chits with his other hand from the man's other purse.  Holding the chits between three fingers, he pulled Felix along and found the last wagon with only the driver aboard, and pulled himself and his brother up, adopting a bored pose.  His heart thumped in his chest as he imagined the Crownsguard getting closer.

Eventually, the caravan leader called out for everyone to roll out, and the wagons began to move, shaking and rocking from side to side as the wheels rolled through and over divots in the hard-packed earth.

It was about eight days journey to Zadash, the first stop on the route.



The visit home to see her mother had been fraught.  Not with danger, but it formed the same knot in Rain's stomach whenever she thought about it.  Her mother looked... withered.  her fur had lost its sheen and now drifted about in the wind as if it had no strength left to resist its gentle pressure.  Thankfully her fur was short enough that she didn't go fuzzy; Rain didn't know if she could handle that as well.

She'd hoped to find Timber at home as well.  Hope to reconnect, apologise for things said and unsaid.  Hoped that Dawn had had someone nearby to rely on.  Guilty that it couldn't have been her, even while knowing she needed something else.  Tempest's Dawn has obviously been overjoyed to see her daughter, but it had been so incredibly hard for Rain to see her mother this way.  So.... deflated.

She hadn't been able to stay long.  While she wanted to, she had her father's itchy feet.  And maybe, buried deep down, there was a fear that if she didn't leave, maybe she would be able to leave.  So when the caravan from Rexxentrum stopped in Zadash, she took the opportunity to sign on as a guard.  After all she knew -- better than all of them -- what lay out in the dark, and the price someone might pay.


From Zadash, the caravan headed south along the Amber Road to Alfield for three days, then turned west towards Felderwin.  The road was quiet most days, with the campfires warning off any natural predators at night.  Four days saw them to Felderwin, a small farming village near the Scymir river.  From there the caravan turned north to Hupperdook, the great industrial gnome-town which was the heart of the Empire's great war machine.  About half the wagons departed the caravan, and the remainder turned westward.  Six more days saw them to Bladegarden, and then to Ashguard Garrison.

Ashguard Garrison marked the border between the Dwendalian Empire and the Kryn Dynasty, and the two nations had been in opposition if not outright war for decades.  The Empire currently held the garrison, and the gate it controlled, and trade between the two nations was tightly controlled and scrutinised.

At least in theory.  The wagons were searched, and the caravan leader spoke to the Garrison commander in private.  No doubt a princely sum was exchanged, and moments later the caravan was given the all clear to proceed into Xhorhas.  Three days saw them reach the walled city of Asarius, a city filled to the brim with goblins, hobgoblins, drow, gnolls, and other such creatures.  Perhaps the most disquieting thing was to see them going about the daily business of ordinary life, as many had a reputation for being nothing more than bloodthirsty savage animals.  Some of the caravan stopped here, merchants peeling their wagons away toward shops or open air markets.  The rest of the caravan continued on, towards its ultimate destination of Rosohna.


The attack came a day and a half after they left Asarius.  A heavy downpour obscured the sounds at first, but ultimately Rain's keen ears caught it -- the sound of feet squelching through wet muddy earth to the south.  She clambered to the top of her father's wagon, her bow drawn and arrow nocked, looking for a target and blinking rain out of her eyes.  Alerted by her actions, the rest of the caravan's guards got to their feet and drew their own weapons.

It was an absolute shitshow of a fight.  Clouds covered Catha's silvery light from the sky, making the surroundings almost pitch black.  Darkvision helped, but there were lot more of them than there were of the caravan, and they found themselves getting picked off one by one.  The caravaners circled up, trying to form a defensive perimeter, while the horde circled 'round the outside, beyond the reach of torchlight and night-eyes alike.  All that could be seen was a mass of moving bodies, the occasional flesh of steel or bright white tooth or claw.

It was impossible to tell who broke first; it happened so quickly.  What was immediately clear was that suddenly the position was impossible to hold; if they tried to stay there, they would die, hacked to pieces.  The pressure was everywhere, but a fraction less to the south, so that's where the group decided to cut its way free.  For one frenzied minute, it seemed they might not succeed, and then they were through, most of the horde racing past them towards the wagons.  A few peeled off from each side to swipe once or twice at them in passing, but they were half-hearted attempts.  No one want to miss their chance at the prime targets, it seemed.

Wasting no time, the surviving party of four -- five if you counted the horse Minho had managed to cut free in the melee, and six if you counted Yukiko, slunk away in the rain and dark, covered in cuts and bruises.

A few hours later, they almost literally stumbled across the logging camp in the rain.

The hour was late as Klaven, Hannah, Humu, and Shera trudged up the path to the logging camp's gates.  Rain pounded down around them pressing everything to the flat earth, and muting the Vermaloc trees to a dusky grey in the background.  A lonely torch fought against the rain at the gates, and a solitary guardsman sheltered beneath a single roof barely large enough to cover him.  A spear rested against his shoulder, and his head slumped forward in apparent drowsiness.  A large bell hung above his head.

He roused himself as the four approached and held his spear forth in a warding posture.  "Hold!" he called.  "State your business 'ere, or begone!"

Before anyone could conjure up a reply, a giant of a shadow loomed from the south, and Kursak trudged up, soaked in his robes, and carrying a large pack.

"Hold!" the guardsman said again, his voice rising a little as he took in the size of the half-goliath, and saw his odds dramatically worsening if things suddenly turned violent.

Hoofbeats sounded over the rain, and the guard turned, immediately ringing the bell in alarm.  Seconds later, the horse appeared behind the foursome, with Minho and Felix astride its back, and Frilia and Rain flanking it to either side.

"A-all of you stay back," he said, now brandishing his spear aggressively.

---

Current date	Conthesen, the 3rd day of Fessuran	Harvest's Close: the first day of Autumn
Current weather	About 11° C (51.5°F), Rainy, with a light breeze from the North
Moon Phase	Catha is full, Ruidus is Full

This message was last edited by the GM at 14:28, Thu 24 Mar 2022.

Frilia had surprisingly kept pace with the bigger folks during the flight from the monsters horde that had destroyed the caravan, despite her short legs, even giving the impression that she wanted to go faster. Her quiver was almost empty, she was covered in dark blood, most of it not hers, and her rapier, kept in her hand this whole time, was still sporting the blood she had spilled. And of course, the thressym was at it's customary place on her pack.

As the survivors of the massacre approached the small logging camp with it's lone guard, 5 more persons had arrived and waiting entry, one of them very familiar, even if she hadn't seen him in years.

Kursak? Is that you?

She didn't really wait for an answer when she got closer to the guard, sheathing her rapier and raising her hands. The guard was so clumsy with his spear anyway, she felt confident she could disarm him easily if she wanted to.

By Moradin's beard, man, are you going to leave us in the rain like that?

She pointed to the two humans and the tabaxi she had fled the caravan massacre with.

We simply want a place to rest and recuperate from our fight... and get out of this rain. I swear on my honor that I won't harm you or your camp.

Her fierce blue eyes promised that she would not let herself be harmed in return.

It had been an offhanded thought to cut the horse free, but Minho's instincts had told him he needed to get Felix out of there fast. He quickly boosted Felix onto the horses' back and threw himself into the saddle. "Hold on. The path might get bumpy." Felix wrapped his arms around Minho's waist and he spurred the horse into a gallop. It wasn't long before Minho realized none of the attackers were following them, which allowed Minho to slow the horse to a trot. Better to save the horses' energy if things get dicey again. After a few minutes, the brothers overtook another pair who seemed to have been fleeing from the caravan, one of which Minho definitely knew. It wasn't often a person walked around with a winged cat.

Minho nodded to Frilia, acknowledging his former apprentice. "It's been a while, Frilia. Let's talk once we're out of the rain."

The brothers continued on at the slower pace of the gnome and tabaxi until they came upon the logging camp. Minho heard the alarm before he saw the guard, standing at attention. He faced five other travelers who appeared to be awaiting entry.

Minho pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a stop. He swung his leg over the side of the horse and dropped from the saddle, holding out his hands to help Felix down after him.

"You, guard. If I can call you that the way you're shaking. We've just been shot at more times than we can count, we're soaked to the bone and just want a place to sleep for the night. Minho pulled Felix farther into the light of the torch, "Are you really gonna leave a kid out in the rain?"

Hannah felt a pang of sympathy for the terrified guard. It wasn't every day that you're approached by a bunch of well armed strangers, some of them covered in blood, in the middle of the night.

Please, we aren't here to hurt you. This is a camp, is it not? We aren't looking for trouble.

She brandishes her pendant of the platinum dragon, and then gestures to the freezing tabaxi and the blood soaked gnome.

Just let us stay the night so we don't all freeze to death.

When the attack started, Felix panicked, but it was more so from the look on Minho's face than the whole fighting for one's life aspect of it.  Seeing Minho's concern worried him, as usually Minho was always in control...of well just about any situation.  Always calm and collected, knowing what to do or what to say, and always thinking on his feet better than anyone else he'd ever encountered.

Felix, with Minho's help, hopped onto the horse's back and once Minho was up, held on to him tightly.  The seasonably cold rain left Felix even more appreciative of Minho's warmth as they galloped away, as he hadn't had the time to pull out and throw out his cloak before their escape.  He was soaked, and miserable, and wanted nothing more than this night to be over with.

When Minho thought things were safe for the moment, he slowed the horse's pace, and it wasn't long before they came upon an unlikely pair also in flight.  Neither of them were recognizable to Felix, but Minho seemed to know one of them, nodding and speaking to the gnome briefly; what Felix found most interesting, was the winged cat perched on the gnome's shoulder.

How do you know her, Minho? ...and what's with her cat?"  Felix said, sounding intrigued.

It wasn't long before they came upon a logging camp and Felix, with Minho's help, got down from the horse, his feet splashing rain and mud as he landed on the soggy ground.  He crossed his arms, hugging himself now that he no longer had Minho's warmth, shaking a little from the excessive cold as Minho pulled him further into the light, so the guard could see more clearly their predicament.

Playing the part, as Minho had taught him, was really more to expedite them getting inside, rather than deceiving the guard.  Felix was terribly cold and it showed.  "Please sir.  I'm f..freezing."

Klaven, dressed as Sir Bobcat, had played his lute in the commons area of the skyship several times before making an actual performance. His costume is very like a Mariachi, and his play style matches. A Lute is a 15-string instrument, requiring all five fingers to be in motion to play properly. Sir Bobcat shows off his skill, laying the instrument flat on his lap and playing it "blindman" style. Since he was giving a full show, he would pause the music every so often to tell a story. He told it in pieces, broken up by music and sometimes accompanied by that same music to set the tone. The story would be familiar to one person since it was about and adventure she had long ago. It began with, "Once I was in Syngorn, City of the Elves, as a little boy." It ended with, "The Ghost disappeared having seen and said what it needed." Although he did not recognize her, she would be hard pressed not to recognize him at this point.


On the trip he performed a half dozen more times, telling different stories each time. To his new friends, he revealed his real name, Klaven Ellis. He kept his secrets to himself, but listened to their stories carefully, learning what he could about them. Humu he knew, at least briefly, and it turned out Hannah was also someone from his past. Shera was new to him entirely, but he absorbed all he could about her. He enjoyed getting to know these three people very much.


At the logging camp Klaven took it upon himself to speak for his small group. "Good sir, there is no need for that weapon. We come in peace, seeking shelter from the storm. I am a musician and in return for this brief shelter I would be more than willing to perform for all those here. I am known as Sir Bobcat. This is Humu, Hannah, and Shera. We are traveling together. We are armed against bandits but we mean you and yours here no harm at all."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:29, Thu 24 Mar 2022.