It was an early day in Restov, the morning was still young with the morning dew garnered on the ground. The city was still waking from its slumber when the small caravan arrived. Passing the northern city gates the two dwarves, Durham and Ivar found themselves parting ways with the caravan, the human who led the procession giving them a small parting gift of wrapped cheese and a merry smile.
"Thank you for accompany my little caravan, the additional security is always welcome! Though I think that just the appearance of two dwarves with me, armed to the teeth that be, ward off any would be bandits." The human paused for a moment as he split a toothy grin, "Nah, its just the stench of ya that kept them at bay!" He would let off a hearty laugh, clapping both of their shoulders in good humor. He was an odd fellow at least, before giving his final good byes and moving the caravan down the main road towards the market.
With that the two dwarves stood upon the main road, the sun slowly rising over the lands to the east. Though those would come sooner or later their aim was to go to the west, towards a small outpost that they were told to begin their task of the charter. But first, it was a stop at Restov to supply and meet the two others that supposedly had been paired with their growing band. The letter that accompanied the charters spoke of a tavern that would be the meeting place of the band, the taverns name was listed as the "Gilded Mug" an odd name, but it wasn't much more to think about then it just being an inn.
You can feel the anticipation on your tongue, the excitement of approaching the Greenbelt to the west. The Unexplored lands waiting to be explored! But first, business as usual.
Restov
Restov is one of the two largest cities in the fertile region of Rostland in southern Brevoy. It is known as the Free City of Restov, but it is allied with Brevoy.
Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius leads the city, which is a trade and cultural center that borders the River Kingdoms, the Shrike River, and the Stolen Lands. Sellemius is not from any of the noble families, which allows the inhabitants to keep the memories of the Aldori Swordlords and times before Choral the Conqueror alive.
As the birthplace of the Aldori dueling style, the city boasts several Aldori and Taldan dueling schools, which has led to the city being a favored place for young nobles to practice dueling championships. Most prominent among them is the Aldori Academy, widely regarded as the region's finest war college. A large number of Aldori duelists came to the city from Rostland after Choral the Conqueror united Brevoy.
Inhabitants
Restov is filled with people who are often refined, including a gentry that believes they are quite sophisticated, or rough around the edges. Taldans smile at those that believe themselves cultured, as they see the natives as being quaint barbarians. As Restov is relatively wealthy, there are many lords and merchants whose sons take up dueling. Fights are common; rhetoric of rebellion against the king can be heard throughout the city.
The main church in the city is dedicated to Erastil watched over by High Priest Ezvanki Keegh.
The city is home to an Aldori swordlord called Jamandi Aldori.
Many firebrands who oppose King Noleski Surtova also hide amongst the taphouses of Restov, raising dissent.[4] More recently, the citizens of Restov have become troubled about the politics and tensions between Rostland and Issia to the north.
Government
A council of Swordlords aid the mayor in ruling Restov. Mayor Sellemius is a member of this council and acts as its representative
"A strange man, that one..." Durham says to Ivar as the caravan pulls away. "Though no stranger than any other human, I suppose." He chuckles heartily. "Ah... but let's git on over to this tavern. I could use a drink!"
Watching as the caravan retreated into the distance, Ivar smirked. "Humans. It must be stressful to live such short lives. Makes them act strangely." Hefting his pack, he turns for the city proper. "I can always use a drink, lad. Let's find that tavern. The "Gilded Mug", was it?
"Aye, I believe so," Durham nods in agreement, also hoisting his pack. "Better get a move on. We're wasting daylight, and, what's worse, time we could be drinkin'!"
The Inn isn't too far from where you came in from, just a little ways south upon the man road you will find it nestled between two large buildings. It was a bit stout and rather charming looking. The building wasn't shabby by any means at all. It had a little sign hanging out, advertising its presence with a foaming mug tipping over with some golden inlays along its handle and struts with gold like letting of "Gilded Mug".
As you enter, your confronting with a smokey smell of tobacco and fire. The place was rather large on the insides, as it was more spread out back further then it appeared from the outside. Tables were to the right and the bar to the left. The place was rather busy for the morning, as quite a few varied folk were enjoying a morning drink and hot meal. There was a good variance of races, mingling or sulking off to the corners.
The one tending the bar was a stout man with a large pot belly and a small thin smile. His hair was disheveled and his apron that adorned him has some white hand prints of flour. There were a few waitresses bringing food and drinks out. The bartender turned an eye to the two dwarves, his eyes gauging them for a moment before his lips cracked into an uneven toothy grin. Dwarves always meant they drank... a lot! Which they appeared to be little bundles of gold sacks to the keep. "Hey Allana! Get these two stout men a drink!" His grin remained, "On the house my new friends! I don't recognize your face here," he pauses and looks at their outfits, easily judging they were not the average folk, "What brings you to The Gilded Mug?"
"Supposed to be meeting some folks, friend," Durham responds. Allana hands him a drink, and he raises his mug to the bartender appreciatively, then takes a healthy swig. "Ye seen any other dwarfs?" he asks, scanning the room.
The bartender makes a sweep of a hand to the room, "Plenty already here. Unless they stand out with a glowing beard, I'm afraid I can't point out the ones that you may be looking for."
The room was indeed filled with other dwarves, about ten of them to be exact, most of them off to the right corner of the room near the hearth, talking among themselves in gruff low tones. A few of them seemed quite armed, much like yourself.
One of the patrons that happens to be in the inn was carefully working on a beaten and well-worn metal tube that fed into a wooden hilt of some kind. He was humming softly as he tweaked a piece here and there, and then leaned down to look along the surface, frowning and then smiling, before straightening up again.
He had a mess of blonde hair, most of it braided out of his face, where his face had more dirty blonde and soot-stained look to his cheeks and nose. He looked up at the mention of dwarves being sought after and pulled his goggles from in front of his eyes to try and get a better look at two inquiring from his table tucked off to one side.
"Oi, Ivan, get a load o' this," Durham says, nudging his companion. "It's every dwarf in Restov! HA!" he slaps the other dwarf on the shoulder.
"Ah..." he sighs, still chuckling to himself. "Well, we better get ta introducin' arselves, so we can find these two we're lookin' fer."
Noticing the soot-stained dwarf to the side look up, Ivar casually wanders over to his table. "Lad, that's a mighty intriguing contraption ye 'ave there. What's it fer, if'n ye don't mind me askin'?"
Rodric smiled, wiping some of the dirt from his face. "You mean this beauty? She's a fine work of Dwarven craftsmanship. She is two and a half feet of a killing power, spitting forth a metal slug at forty paces. She's got a hairline trigger and a walnut stock, and crafted from the finest iron." He spoke quickly his pitch, hand running along the barrel of his gun as well as the hilt. "She kills man, beast, and monster alike. I call her Sheila." He grinned broadly.
He paused waiting to hear the reaction from the inquiring dwarf.
"Ah, one o' them alchemical bullet shooter things? What do they call 'em, "guns"? Didn't have much o' that ilk back in me old homestead. I guess you could say we were a bit more traditional." he says, gesturing to the dorn dergar wrapped around his waist. "Did have some alchemists, but they mostly worked with stone, not these newfangled fire-powders. Wish I coulda got meself a suit o' their alchemically treated stone armor before I left, but those beauties ain't cheap." After a moment, he extends a hand. "I'm Ivar, by the way."
Rodric smiled and took Ivar's hand in his own. "Aye it be a gun ar'right. I have had her fer quite some time."
He nods slightly towards Durham. "Ye two been travelling long together? Seen a scrap or two?" He carefully moved his gun to one side of the table, patting it gently, still smiling as he pulled out a kerchief to wipe some of the dirt from his face.
Durham finishes his mug and slaps some coin on the counter. "Ah! Thanks fer that, Lad. Go ahead and git a round fer ev'ryone on me," the dwarf offers. He waits a moment for another ale before joining Ivar and his new friend.
"Not too long. Met escortin' a caravan here after I saw the notice in Brunderton callin' fer folks ta tame the wildlands," Durham responds. "Name's Durham, by the way, o' the Battlebrew clan. Nice ta meetcha!" Smiling, he raises his mug in salutation.
Rodric reaches over and raises his own mug, only half drained due to how busy he has been tinkering with his weapon. "Good ta meet ya Durham and Ivar. I am Rodric Caradocssun, and I have too heard the call to come and 'splore the damn wild. Actually, it was my stubborn lass of a sister's idea... Ma and Pa'll kill me good and dead if I were to let her just be wand'rin' all o'er the damn place." He added with a scoff looking off to where the inn lead to the living quarters upstairs, before returning his full attention back to you.
"I have seen a good deal of able-bodied dwarves here, but I see you two possess mayhaps a diff'rent kind of caliber?" He said with a gleam in his eye, before he downed his ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The barkeep nodded in thanks to the gold coin, his meaty hands snatching the coin up and depositing in a pouch that he kept under his apron. You could never keep your gold too close now!
The barmaid came around, a platter of flagons set upon as she picked up the empty ones and plopped down newly filled. A gracious smile on her lips as she would pick up any coin that was offered in time. The room was beginning to buzz with voices as people slowly wake, more strolling in through the door to get their morning ale and food before going about their duties.
Though one dwarf off to the left, a table near the three overheard Durham speak. He turned around as he spoke to the group, "Wildlands ey? You mean you be headed west-ish into the unknown?" His voice was gruff and thick. It carried well within the Tavern. His friends had slowly halted their talks to listen in, all eyes peering onto the group. "You got one them charters ey?" Something flashed in the dwarf's eye as he patted his belly, "I don't suppose you heard the legends? You're dwarves afterall!"
Durham is about to answer Rodric when the other dwarf chimes in.
A knowing smile crosses his lips as he responds. "Well, I've heard many a legend, friend. What ones might ye be referrin' to?"
Rodric raises an thick bushy eyebrow, as he gently strokes Sheila in a comforting way. He listened intently as the other dwarf exchanged words about the legend with Durham. After a couple moments, he turned to Ivar and gave him a kind of puzzled look.
He leaned back in his chair, wondering what his dear sister was up to at that very moment. He hadn't seen her in nearly a hour since he had been working on adjustments with his weapon.
You've noticed that the dwarf whose regaling any stories might have an ulterior motive here. Though you can't quite place exactly what it is, you do get a slight unease about him.
"Ha! Why ain't that a response!" The hearty dwarf chuckled before glancing to his companions, "I take it they hadn't heard about Dovrakuun." He turned back, that smile still plastered on his lips as he leaned forward ever so slightly on one arm.
"Dovrakuun, the ancient city of dwarves lost to the ages. The city that once ruled all the lands in the greenbelt, and even beyond. No one dared rival that singular city. The kingdom was so vast and powerful, that it would make the combined efforts of all the swordlords and neighboring kingdoms pale in comparison!" He punctuated his words with a wide sweeping gesture of his hands, one of his companions snickered at his statement.
"Always a bit grand, aren't ya Da'?" his companion responded, but the story teller ignored him as he continued on.
"They say Dovrakuun was real, it ain't no legends boys. There's been rumors of some ancient ruins buried or covered by trees. Our ancient kin had a likeness for both surface and below, where old tunnels could be found, just as much as towers that pierce the sky! Though they say the kingdom is nestled in the mountains, no one knows though if the lay within the icy peaks of Branthlend, or tucked away in Tors of Levenies. Though I think the first is the better. Makes more sense any way ya look'it."
"Well that's quite the tale. Can't say that I've heard it before. Can ye tell me more?" he asks the other dwarf. "Barkeep! More drinks for my friends over here if ye would!
Durham doesn't trust the other dwarf a bit, but he's probably not entirely full of it, and there's no sense not finding out what he's after.
The story is familiar, as the more the dwarf talks, the more it aligns to some tales from around your home. The particulars always change, as many stories but there was a constant theme of the dwarven kingdom nestled in some mountains, always being stronger then anyone could even remember and that these dwarves had structures both above and below ground. Though the dwarf is leaving out how the dwarven kingdom fell, or so the legend says. How the kingdom grew so big, that greed and corruption finally upon them, rotting their insides until they were ripe enough to entice their own doom. Legend says that whatever is left of the kingdom is buried in the mountain and guarded by a fearsome beast, only known by the name of Luxdimar. What this fearsome beast truly was no one really knew. Some say it was just an anology for the greed and corruption that riddled the kingdom, others say it was an actual beast from deep within the earth.
A twinkle could be seen in the story tellers eye as Durham pressed for more, "Oi! 'Course! Now, the legend says that there might be some artifacts still 'bout the wilderness that all magical and 'nuff. Though..." The dwarf paused as he leaned back in his seat, "There are other, mundane items of interest."
Another dwarf at the table stood and left with a light groan.
"These mundane items can be quite... valuable to the common folk. And I got an interest for these things." His smile split then into a toothy grin, "Gonna toss ya folk a proposition here. If'na you find any mundane artifacts, bring em back to me, and I'll be sure to reward you quite well!"
Rodric leaned forward as he listened to more and more of the dwarf's pitch. It sounded too good to be true, but then again if they were already heading in that direction...
"Wot kind of mundane items?" He finally broke his own silence, with one hand on his contraption, the other slowly stroking his dirty blonde beard. He wasn't one for greed, but opportunities were a shame to miss whenever they popped up. And it was going to cost him a pretty copper to maintain his tinkering lifestyle, even his sister's talents couldn't afford his hobbies indefinitely.
Thinking back to the stories of his childhood, and the ancient tomes he'd spent many hours poring over in libraries back home, something jogged Ivar's memory. "Y'know, this tale reminds me of tales I heard as a wee lad, things I read as a youth. Most of the details varied, as they often do in this sort o' tale, but some were always the same; a Dwarven kingdom o' unfathomable power, its strongholds reaching up into the sky as well as down into the stone heart of the world. It's said they fell to corruption 'n greed, which grew with their power, eating from within. The tales always tell o' a fell beast, Luxdimar, guards whatever remains of the kingdom, but some o' the tales hold that Luxdimar's just a metaphor for the rot that brought the kingdom down." His tale done, Ivar falls silent, taking another pull of his ale.
"Ah, you've heard of it then!" the dwarf says in surprise, before turning to the question at hand. A wry smile coming to his lips. "Ah, you know the regular things, like vases, boxes, anything that doesn't see interest in not sitting on a shelf in a small building on a shelf is all." The dwarf grinned then, "I can pay up to several hundred gold per piece you bring me... intact." By the looks of it, he was the better... or well more affluently dressed dwarf in the tavern currently.
"But I wouldn't worry bout no beasts! Sure maybe an orc or goblin, possibly a kobold here and there, but the story about this beast is all hogwash, others trying to find a meaning in the loss." He would take a pull of the ale then before standing, "Offer stands, whatever you find, if you bring it to me, I will gladly purchase it, got anymore questions before I trod off here?"
Rodric adjusted in his seat once more. "Have ye got a name? If'n we do find wot it is yer lookin' fer?" He stroked his beard again, brushing more of the soot from it.
Once the dwarf leaves, he turns to the other two and speaks in low tones. "I hadn't heard of this Legend he was talkin' about, but ye have? Is there really a beastie? Or is it really just comfortin' a fallen kingdom?"
He looked out into the commons, all the dwarves milling about and causing a low buzzing in the room from all their different discussions and conversations. He leaned back again, sighing softly. He hoped the barmaid might swing by again to pick up his mug and maybe bring him another and some mutton.
"No, I think we're alright, friend," Durham says. "Ye have a good one," he tells the departing dwarf.
When it seems the companions are more or less alone, he shares his opinion. "Well, I don't trust that one as far as I could toss him," he says to Ivar. "He certainly hadn't planned ta mention that Luxdimar or whatever ye called it, but I still git the feelin' there's somethin' more." He takes a swig of his ale.
"Bah!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up as if to cast the thought from his mind. Then, he turns to Rodric. "So ye think everythin's alright with yer sister?" he asks. "I assume that's what that look ye gave Ivar earlier was fer."
Rodric turned to Durham as he spoke about his sister. "Well nay, not completely... It's just that I haven't seen her in a wee bit o' time and was wonderin' wot in the world she was doin' if not here." He leaned back looking at the ceiling before bringing a hand over his face to rub it, somewhat weary.
"To tell the truth if'n she doesn't quit powd'rin' her nose or some other daft reason fer not bein' here right now, I am goin' to be fixin' to leave without her..." He grumbled, a little peeved that they both had arrived after almost a two week journey by wagon there and the second they got there she had told him that she was off to pay for the room and do some shopping. He had been dumbstruck with how quickly she left him with just the goats and the wagon, that he took care of them and then came to the inn to await the convention of dwarves that was to arrive.
He hadn't been disappointed by the turnout at the inn, but he was a little concerned that he still hadn't seen her back yet and it was already late evening.
Rodric adjusted in his seat once more. "Have ye got a name? If'n we do find wot it is yer lookin' fer?" He stroked his beard again, brushing more of the soot from it.
Once the dwarf leaves, he turns to the other two and speaks in low tones. "I hadn't heard of this Legend he was talkin' about, but ye have? Is there really a beastie? Or is it really just comfortin' a fallen kingdom?"
He looked out into the commons, all the dwarves milling about and causing a low buzzing in the room from all their different discussions and conversations. He leaned back again, sighing softly. He hoped the barmaid might swing by again to pick up his mug and maybe bring him another and some mutton.
With a shake of his head, Ivan shrugs. "It's hard to say. These things are what they are. Some stories say one thing, some say another. Best we assume the worst then be happy if we're wrong, methinks." He sits back and looks around, content to watch the bar's patrons while they waited.
Rodric smirked, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards and partly obscured by a bushy beard. "Aye, I 'spose that is the best course o' action. Best not to worry too much about it right now anyways."
He finally flagged down a passing waitress, putting in another order. He turned to the others and asked "Would you two like something as well?"
"Aye! I'll always take another," Durham responds as he settles himself in more comfortably. "So it seems like this will be our little band whenever yer sister gets back. Aside from a few healthy drinks, what should our first move be?"
"Ha! Great question. I would love to just head out and get right down to it. Thing is, I'm not sure if we be needin' more supplies than wot we have in arr wagon. Probably could use sum more." He shrugs, before looking around the inn at the other patrons again. The dwarf from earlier still had him a little bugged with his pointed questions.
"Me thirst is mostly quenched, but I could use a good hearty stew." Ivar says, turning to the waiter. "Beef and mushroom would be my preference, if ye've got it lad."
The dwarf who had posed the story didn't bother answering their questions as he left. Odd fello that one, his companions at the table he was at seemed to be a bit more relaxed now that he was gone.
The Inn become its usual self, as a barmaid came by the tables, picking up the empty tankards with that sweet, charming smile. The barmaid was human after all but she didn't seem to mind waiting on the dwarves. They were... well much more respectable to her! "Did I hear a stew?" She spoke with a smile, "Let me get you a bowel, any for your companions?" She would of course make bring a round of refilled flagons for the thirsty dwarves.
At this moment, a small wry looking boy stumbled into the inn. He wore a simple noble clothing, much that to be of a squire. He held up a piece of parchment, looking around at all the dwarves. His face screwed up in frustration before letting out an audible sigh. "Durham Battlebrew, Rodric Caradocssun, Ivar Stonewrought, Raennia Elviasdottir!" He suddenly belched out in quite the yell that came over the Inn. Everyone stopped in their midsts of talking as they turned to look at the boy with a scowl and annoyance. The boy was obviously looking for the ones he just named out, his blue eyes scanning the crowd for their responses.
When they would make motion he called the right ones, he would come over in a bit of a hurry. "Ahem..." He cleared his throat, "My lords wished to know if you will be heading out soon? They are quite eager for you to continue on your journey." He fumbled with the papers, trying to find something, "Ah..." he paused a moment as he read a quick excerpt, "In case you are were not informed, you will be making your way east along the road towards Oleg's Trading post. We just received word they require some assistance with a local banditry problem. In lue of the time it would take to assign and move some guards to the post, we request that you see if you can assist them. You will be passing through Nivakta's crossing and past Fort Serenko to arrive there. They request you make due haste." He paused as his eyes looked to the dwarve's assembled. "Also they wish you to send correspondence of anything... interesting you may find while you excerpt your rights of the charter."
"Ah. Thanks, lass," the dwarf says smiling at the barmaid. He turns back to his companions, excited for the stew. That's when the human boy enters.
Durham turns at the sound of his name. "What's this?" He sees the boy scanning the room and waves him over. "That's us, lad. Well... most of us anyway. Whatcha got there?"
When the boy leaves, he turns to Rodric. "Guess we better find yer sister then. If she's already out shoppin', we can grab supplies along the way." Suddenly, he looks a bit crestfallen. "Guess we won't be havin' time fer stew."
Rodric turns to Durham, and then looks back down at the stew. He sighed heavily, and moved to stand up. "I was lookin' forward to the stew too... Alright I'll grab me things quickly then." He lifted his gun and put it over his shoulder, reaching into his pocket to put a couple of coins on the table to pay his tab.
"I will be back down shortly lads, and then we find her as we are headin' out." He climbed the stairs up to the rooms of the inn. Once inside he quickly packs his bags and then dons the backpack. He also does the same for the meager belongings that Raennia left in the room as well. After he made sure to grab everything from the room and look around one more time, he grabbed the keys and locked the door to the room.
Within moments he was back downstairs, back to greet the other two once more. "Alright! We need to grab the wagon and get goin'"
When the three dwarves made their way outside and rounded the corner they were greeted by the sight of a beautifully curvy dwarven lass with flaming red hair done up in intricate braids loading a large bag onto the wagon. Her resemblance to Rodric made it clear they were siblings but she moved with a sway in her hips and twinkle in her eye that was quite uncommon for a dwarf. When she spied the three men she stood up with her hands on her hips and piped out in a sing-song voice "There ye are! Move yer lazy bones Caradocssun or I'll tan yer hide!"
He stopped for a moment, taken aback. His face then split into a wide grin. "Lazy bones?! Where in the nine hells have ye been woman? Ye told me that ye had shopping and that was hours ago!"
He let out an exasperated sigh before he turned back to the other two gentlemen. "Durham and Ivar this is my sister, Raennia." He bit back some other choice words, in favor of making their way with all due haste.
Stepping forward, Ivar offers his hand. "Ivar Stonewrought, Paladin of Trudd the Mighty. At your service, my lady."
"Well, ain't you a vision!" Durham greets the female dwarf with a cheerful grin. "Rodric here didn't say nothing about that! He was all doom and gloom and "Ma 'n' Pall kill me" and what-have-ye. HA!" He gives the other dwarf a playful slap on the shoulder.
"Anywho, don't know if ye heard, but the powers that be are insistin' we get a move on; so, if everyone's ready, I'd like to say a little prayer before we get to it." Inviting the others to join him in a circle, he bows his head reverently.
"Oh Torag, great shaper of the world
may you and yer kin watch over us.
We ask yer sons fer strength—
of steel, community, and conviction—
that we may fulfill our duties to kin and crown.
May yer brothers guide our hands and our hearts
that we may know victory over our foes
and ultimately find our way to yer table.
And finally, we ask that yer wife, Folgrit,
love and protect us as she would her own."
When he finishes he puts his fist in the center of the circle and calls the name of the god with whom he shares the closest connection. "Grundinnar."
Rodric raises an eyebrow before he places his gun, stock first, upon the ground with his hands lightly placed upon the muzzle. He bowed his head a little, looking awkward and unaccustomed to the gesture, as he patiently waits for Durham to finish.
Once silence falls over them again, he looks up and places his gun over his shoulder again. As he places his goggles over his eyes again he speaks up, "Well lads, let's hurry and grab anythin' else we need to before we take off." He smiled, happy to finally be on the move again.
Raennia jumped down from the wagon with a swirl of her overcoat and stepped up to join in the prayer circle. She bowed her head and murmured her own silent prayer as Durham chanted on. At the conclusion of the prayer she pushed her own fist against Durham's and proudly said "Shelyn!", daring anyone to criticize her for ascribing to a non dwarven diety's teachings with a stubborn set to her jaw.
After the prayer was finished the woman stepped back and grasped Ivar's hand suddenly, responding to his earlier invitation. "Raennia Elviasdottir, weaver of magic and chronicler of history. Be welcome aboard!" she said brightly. Hand firmly grasped she suddenly dragged Ivar over to the wagon to greet the two powerful and shaggy draft horses hitched to the front. "This is Bombur and Furdgar. Watch out for Bombur, he's a right nasty beast." she pointed at the darker of the horses who tossed his head and let out a deep rumble of a neigh at the attention. The silver coated Furdgar neighed in response and nipped playfully at the more powerful Bombur's neck. "Furdgar'd be a much sweeter creature but Bombur is overly protective of her. He nearly killed me da when it was time to separate Furdgar from her last foal."
Ivar retrieves some carrots from his pack, and approaches the horses cautiously. "Bombur. Furdgar. Pleased to make your acquaintance." he says, offering a carrot first to Furdgar and then to Bombur.
Durham looks up, a bit surprised by the mention of the Eternal Rose, then smiles softly. "My apologies, lass. I'll remember to keep Shelyn in mind as well in the future," he says to Raennia. Then, to everyone, "Ready when you are!"
Rodric shook his head gently at his sister's antics as she interacted with the other two gentlemen. "Hey sis, we need to get goin' and possibly swing by a store for these two on the way out. You remember where you saw it?" He slowly shrugged off his pack and stowed it in the wagon carefully near his other things already set up in a corner of the wagon. He turned to assist the other two if they wished to put their belongings on the wagon as well.
"No sense lettin' a good wagon go to waste," Durham says cheerily, removing his pack. "Where's a good spot fer this?"
Rodric motions Durham over. "I'll find a good spot for it." He hefts your pack from you and carefully sets it inside the wagon near his and Raennia's belongings sat within the back. He straightens and claps his hands before putting them at his hips, before he goes over and exchanges some words with Raennia quietly.
"Hey sis, did you manage to get enough feed and the like? I know we need to make another quick stop, but I would really like us to get goin' if we can..."
Glancing over the wagon, Ivar hefts his own pack into an open spot beside the others. "Ready to go when ye are, lads. And lass." he adds quickly, with a nod in Raennia's direction. "We should stop over at a supply store before leaving town, I'd been just buying my food by the meal in fine institutions like this one here" he says, jerking a thumb at the tavern's sign, "but as I've got no intention of dieting on the road, I'll be needin' to pick up some grub for the trail."
Rodric nods to Ivar. "Aye, but it'll have to be our only stop, otherwise we'll be runnin' behind and can't be havin' that." He checks the horses to make sure their harnesses are secured one more time, before he climbs up on the wagon.
It takes a better part of 3 days of travel along the roads, passing by a similar small city and a lonely fort as you head west. The road followed the river for some time before breaking off around the bend. It felt like it was a bit of a longer trek then it actually as it was quite uneventful.
The weather held up nicely, sun and some clouds were holding a constant grip on the sky and it was all the better for the group.
It was closing in on the third day of travel as you arrive at the trading post. It's sad walls which were in quite the disrepair stood ten feet high. The complex holding twenty foot towers at each corner. The catapults that sat upon the turrets were in quite disrepair from the knowing eye but did provide some display of intimidation to the locals.
You can see two humans milling about in the outpost. A women who was bent over a large fire pit stirring something within the cauldron and a larger a plump man hammering away at some shingles upon a roof of what appeared to be the stalls.