Silas Gibb, the rotund and frankly, unattractive man that hired you all to help him deliver two salt wagons from the port city of Cassomil, through the heart of the Verduran Forest, to the gnomish town of Wispil, snores loudly in the rear of the lead wagon, oblivious to the journey.
And while definitely annoying, the rumbling of the pale man’s snores mean that at least he’s not complaining instead. The salt merchant had admitted right away that he was an urban creature, and unused to traveling, but circumstances called for him to make an unusual rush delivery to Wispil, and his usual drivers and wagons were already elsewhere, making deliveries of their own.
So, like it or not, Silas had put out word that he was seeking wagoneers and guards for a five or six day trip to Wispil, the so-called Lumber Capitol of Taldor. The offered pay was decent (10 gp/day each), and for your own reasons, each of you signed on...
The day is warm, but not too hot, and the canopy of leaves above does much to block out a good deal of the sun. The road through the Verduran Forest has thus far been clear and uneventful, and there has been little to do…
GAME ON!
Avogadro is sat beside whoever is driving the second wagon. He is whistling, loudly but tunefully, a children's nursery rhyme that you all know. He is fiddling with a pack of cards, if you look carefully you notice the faces of the cards are very crudely drawn in what looks like children's crayon.
"I am most perturbed friend, your chosen card is not the four of swords or the queen of hearts..."
With a boyish smile and a flourish he produces another card between two fore fingers
"Then dearest friend, this must be your card! Mr Bun the Baker!"
Muradin knows well the Verdant forests, acting as the guide for the caravan. He usually walks near the head wagon giving brief directions to the driver, for times climbing up to rest as he isn't too fast himself. He makes sure to adopt the least dangerous path, even if taking a little more time, and pushes the journey to be somewhat closer to the riverbeds - at least around 10 or 15 minutes to walk, when needed, so they can replenish the waterskins.
As they follow through the road, the Dwarf stays silent. His mind races through no thoughts, as he simply breathes the pure air and keeps his eyes open for threats. Some of his colleagues were hired as guards and likely a lot more capable than him, but he reckons his trained tracking eyes could also be the difference between an ambush and an inconvenient surprise. He was already used to Silas's snoring and the parallel conversations, but still preferred keeping his voice to himself.
As it so happens, among Tarrow Harfoot's varied set of skills is wagon driving, a discipline learned out of necessity, as pub owners typically do not permit beer to be brewed on premises. Fermentation only adds to the bad odors choking such establishments. That Tarrow had learned to accelerate the process through alchemical means did not tip the scale in his favor. So he had long since purchased the necessary barrels which kept in his small closet in a warehouse at the south dock in Cassomir. From there he would tip coppers to a few stout lads to load a rented wagon and repeat the process at each destination.
With the journey underway he had come to see Silas Gibb in a different light. Of course he was half-drunk when they first met. The man seemed charismatic, almost, or at least competent. Now... Hmm. The snoring didn't bother him in the slightest. He lived in a common house among halflings. To hear one snore was to notice the night. But Silas was also quite lazy, and consumed most of the beer Tarrow produced nightly. He was rather annoying, but the pay was good.
Deferring the lead wagon reins to one of the larger folk, Tarrow occupied the bench beside Avogadro, who seemed hellbent on commanding the halfling's attention at all times. He looked down at the spread of cards between them.
"Bun the Baker indeed. Well you're really quite good at this game, friend," Tarrow replies after revealing his card. "Astoundingly so. There's more to you than card tricks though, or you wouldn't be here. What's your reason for joining this caravan, if you don't mind me asking?" As usual, Tarrow is obtuse to his own bluntness.
Bertrade sits on top of the cargo of the front wagon. While she does keep her eyes open, she retains an almost no-mind state of Zen, simply watching for disturbances in the natural world...which is occasionally pleasantly interrupted by the jollity taking place on the wagon behind her.
Sbe seems to be taking her job seriously, but most often daydreams romantic fantasies of pairing together a couple of her caravan-mates.
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Svala keeps pace with the horse of the second cart, listening to her companions talk casually amongst themselves. She smiles as she adjusts the swords at her hips and looks towards Braggi.
"Hey Braggi!" she shouts to get his attention, pointing at her own eye. "Keep Blue on alert. We can't trust Ol' Grey to really know what they actually see."
This job is a lot less exciting than she had hoped, but the sun was comfortable and the company good. Well, most of the company was good. I guess one good thing about Silas' sleeping is we can be sure we won't startle any wildlife in the area. Unless they are completely deaf.
Bravo sits by the rear of the first cart, thus making sure he's about the center of the caravan and, should problems arise, he can reach any position in as few times as possible.
Truth be told, problems d to seeon't seem likely to arise. The journey has been silent and boring, only mottled by the conversations with Svala and the occasional jokes in Skald that no one else gets. Truly, his - and Svala's - Ulfen spirit long for a bit more fun, but well, in the end, he's here our of necessity, not of amusement.
"I'll use the blue one to catch any assailant and the grey one to have your backside covered!" he jokes back. Actually, the Ulfen woman appears quite attractive to him, but she's also a potential ally and friend in a strange land, and he wouldn't want to ruin that for a quick night of passion. Plus, that is precisely what brought him here...
Truth be told, problems d to seeon't seem likely to arise. The journey has been silent and boring, only mottled by the conversations with Svala and the occasional jokes in Skald that no one else gets. Truly, his - and Svala's - Ulfen spirit long for a bit more fun, but well, in the end, he's here our of necessity, not of amusement.
Bertrade does laugh Braggi's jokes, often encouraging Svala to join in. She even tries her hand some wordplay in Skald, though it being her second language, it...doesn't always work so well.
Muradin looks with the side of his eye towards the wagons, and a quick smile can be seen at the Dwarf from underneath the long beard. At least it seems his companions could have some fun in the bleak boring road.
Garret will drive the front wagon. He leans back and lets the horses just follow the road as much as possible and listens in occasionally looking behind him to see what everyone else is doing.
Meanwhile, Silas snores. The road through the woods seems clear and the forest on each side is deep, green, and without anything particularly noteworthy in sight.
"Bun the Baker indeed. Well you're really quite good at this game, friend," Tarrow replies after revealing his card. "Astoundingly so. There's more to you than card tricks though, or you wouldn't be here. What's your reason for joining this caravan, if you don't mind me asking?"
Avogadro becomes somewwhat grim
"The truth is that mine is a lonely trade. I am known to all, friend of none. I must keep moving, lest Bun's bread grow stale. There was... an incident, back in Cassomil. Nothing serious you must understand: property damage, light burns, a few broken bones and one man lost a hand. Most regrettable but I can hardly be held responsible. It was all that bloody Bird."
A switch seems to flick and his normal cheer returns
"But that was then and this is there... here... now! Onwards and upwards as my father always said. Pastures new. I just hope we don't meet trouble on the road. More than card tricks I may just be, but somewhat less than a hero I fear. What about you, young zymurgist, what calls you to the road?"
Garret slumps in apparent boredom and then tries to peek when Muradin has fallen a little further back along the wagon's side and the others are looking at the verbose Avogadro.
As the others pass the time as they will, Garrett's actions aren't noticed at all as the inquisitive halfling works at the edge of the secured tarp. So secured, in fact, that for a moment, the roguish fellow thinks he might have to abandon his task until some later time.
Still, perseverence and experience often pay off, and Garrett is soon rewarded by an absolutely clear view of...
Tarrow looks to the trees north of the road. Or perhaps through the trees at some unseen point in the distance.
He smiles. "I fancied a return to my homeland," he says with a touch of melancholy. "The road gets me halfway there. Figured I might as well pick up work on the way. With the muscle Silas hired I don't fear we have much to worry about if trouble calls."
Gripping the reins a little more tightly, he tries to forget the notion.
"What about that bird?"
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"Where?!"
With a start, Avogadro looks up to the sky and over his shoulders. In the process dropping all the cards in a scatter, as each card touches down it dissolves into mist.
A large white bird flutters somewhat clumsily down to the wagon behind them and alights next to Silas' prone form.
"Oh great. It's you. And things were going so well. Master Tarrow, this is the bird."
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The white bird hops closer to Silas, its head on one side as if staring intently with one eye. Its beak opens as if to cry out but instead a series of gutteral noises can be heard, it is almost as is the bird is talking.
"annoeth i gysgu o amgylch y meistr. gwell aros yn effro rhag ofn y bydd damwain"
Tarrow shrugs. "I don't speak bird. Clever enough, though, for it to settle at this moment, as if summoned. Can you get it to wake Silas? It's past time for him to take a turn at these reins."
"I think the flippin' thing is broken. It doesn't even squark right, it just yodles. Being an optimist in all regards and having heard that such things are indeed possible, I have tried to train it to talk, but with little success I fear. Sometimes if I make a certain set of gestures though..."
Avogadro mutters under his breath, unintelligible nonsense for the most part followed by something about taxidermy, and makes a series of movements with his hands.
A vaguely human shout emanates from the bird, bizarrely the creatures beak doesn't seem to move.
"There we go"
Avogadro looks around at anyone in eyeline, a boyishly proud grin on his face.
Braggi casually looks at the card-shuffling, bird-talking, top hat man. He seems like a charlatan, but the ulfen sailor has learned to have an eye open - no matter which colour - with these. Behind the talky facade, sometimes lies true power.
If there's any moment in which they need it, and the guy is really worth his while, Braggi will be glad to have him on his side.
He jumps gently down the cart and starts walking beside Svala.
"So, with all the interesting places there must be in Golarion... Why did you end up precisely here?"
Garrett sits up and stretches as he considers what he saw and what might be under it.
Looking back at Braggi he decides to join in the conversation and says, "Doesn't everyone who winds up in that smelly pit of a port Cassomil try and find a way out?"
"Maybe" Braggi answers, "but that doesn't mean this one's the only way out."
The conversation continues casually enough, but it's momentarily interrupted by a small * WhUmP * as the second wagon hits a small rutt with one of it's wheels. The disturbance would be hardly noteworthy under most circumstances.
However, the bump is enough to jolt Silas Gibb from his slumber, rocking him over to his side. A surprised snort, followed by a few moments of coughing, before the merchant groggily calls out, "Where ARE we? Still in this blasted forest??"
We are, and will still be for a while. - replies Muradin with his usual "charismatic" way - These roads may be dangerous, as much as I have been trying to keep us through the safest routes. Unless you prefer the faster, much more dangerous ones.
As the Dwarf speaks, he goes check on the wheel of the wagon, just to make sure things are still working fine.
If he were in the business of showing his hand, Tarrow would admit he steered for that rut on purpose. He looks away from Avogadro and smiles to himself.
"Eh? What's that now? Oh good, Silas, you're awake. Fear not, you've missed nothing of the road. It's as if we have not moved for hours, and yet, we make good progress."
"I think we are getting close to stopping for food, so its good that you are up." Garrett says as his stomach rumbles and he thinks about getting up to move from the bench and filling his belly.
The food reference makes Braggi's belly groan. "Ah, there's ages since last time I tasted a good jar of mjød... I have zero hopes that they have that here, but a good meal will help me put the idea aside for a while" he comments, grinning, while he frothes his stomach in circles with his right hand.
The jolt and Silas' awakening causes the bird to take flight once more, it resettles on the other wagon.
As everyone greets Silas, Avogadro calls over his shoulder
"...and then your turn at the reigns this afternoon. A splendid day for it, no? Talking of lunch. Mr dwarf sir, Muradin, since the road goes ever on and on and all that, how about seeing if you can't scare us up some small forest creature to supplement the meagre rations of travel. Maybe Mr Gibb would even forward us a little salt for the pot?"
"Hunt?" Braggi asks to the wind. "We could do that, if our stop is still far away." He turns his head to Muradin. "Is it?"
The Dwarf looks around, pausing for a moment to assess before responding.
Gumbling, the large man rolls onto his side, and sits up with a groan. "My turn at the reigns, eh? Well, then..." the bald merchant pauses to squint up where the sun was filtering through the forest canopy. "Then by the gawds, it must definitely be time for food!"
This last he delivers with a good-natured laugh, and he gets up to his knees, looking out at the forest. "Damned but if it doesn't all look the same. Just goes on and on, eh?"
While I don't recall taking this particular road we're in, I imagine we're still about three, three and a half days away. The town of Belhaim should be in about one night of sleep, so not that far for a refresh. If you want to stop a bit, though, I believe there's a clearing about thirty yards ahead. - the Dwarf clarifies to the group, looking around in his usual concerned way as he knows how dangerous things can quickly turn when moving through forests.
"Let's stop there, then, and see that we can have a nice banquet!" Braggi claims.
Bertrade chortles with delight. "That sounds great! I'll run up ahead and start tidying up." She carefully clambers down the wagon, armor jingling as it rumbles, and dashes ahead of the caravan to the clearing.
The white bird roused once more by Bertrade's sudden movement, takes wing and quickly gains some height.
And so it goes, with little to no trouble, the two wagons are driven off-road into the clearing, and "parked" so as to leave a large space between them that will allow the vehicles to provide some cover from the weather, if needed.
Stretching and protesting the way his bones and joints creak and pop, Silas climbs down from the wagon bed and sighs, before ambling over to the edge of the clearing.
"Aye, this will work." With that, he sits down heavily, leaning his back against a tree and closes his eyes. "What's for dinner?"
Muradin grumps, not speaking a word, and starts to collect kindling and log to set up a fire for the camp. He looks around, not noticing any kind of danger at the moment, but yet the jumpy Dwarf moves on his usual "on the edge" attitude.
Braggi enjoys a simple task as is collecting timber with Muradin. Suddenly, he stops. "Hey, can't you hear? I think that's running water... it might be our lucky day!"
A loud and triumphant laughter resounds all over when he finally finds the small water stream.
"A natural spring," Tarrow observes from about the level of Braggi's knee. "I wonder if there's a cave around here..."
The halfling promptly finds a long, narrow stick with two short ends in a Y that can be easily carried with both hands. After a bit of trimming he points the stick at the large rock and observes whether the end of the stick droops toward the stream as expected. If so, he slowly and steadily witches the channel of water.
+1 from Adaptable Luck for good measure = 20
If nothing comes of it, he'll fill his iron pot with stream water for a fresh evening brew. A golden ale sounds like just the thing tonight!
Garrett lets the others run around in nature. He was not very comfortable in the wide open areas. He stretches and moves towards Silas and says, "What supplies did you provide for the trip today? Should I go get it from one of the carts?" Garrett asks.
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Svala keeps an eye out for any threats while working with the others to make camp for the night. She is unsure if this spot is the safest place as she constantly checks that her swords remain clear.
When Braggi roars with laughter she smiles slightly but shakes her head. "Well, if there are any dangers out there waiting for us they certainly know where to come find us."
I'm afraid Avogadro makes no effort to help in any way with preparing the campsite or looking for food and firewood. He gambles around the clearing, humming to himself and contact juggling a cloudy, somewhat irregular crystal ball.
At the mention of water he looks round suddenly and drops the ball, which again dissolves to smoke as it hits the ground. He lopes over to the water and, quick as you like, he is padding barefoot in the stream. His shoes left neatly at the bank and trouser legs rolled up to the knee.
There is something very childlike in his demeanor.
Bertrade helps with tidying and cooking, trying her best to make sure that everyone gets something to their taste, even with the likely limited trail supplies they have on hand.
"So, then. Anyone else hail from Absalom, or am I the only city girl in this crew?"
"Ahhh, fair Absalom! City at the center of the World!" Silas calls out, "I spent a good deal of time there, once upon a time...". The rotund man grins and shakes his head, lost in thought, before returning to Garrett's question: "Sadly, my good fellow, just more of the same. Potatoes, some jerky. Mayhaps a few carrots, still. Some dried apples, I'm sure. Beyond that..?"
Silas gestures out towards the woods, "Perhaps one of you could supply anything more substantial, if necessary."
For the rest:
Braggi steps aside as Avogadro openly winces when his feet are shocked by the ice-cold brooke. Sadly, it's neither long nor deep, but the sorcerer does find the short stretch refreshing.
Tarrow's efforts with the switch over the stream yield little of use. From the reaction his y-shaped rod, the halfling is sure that the stream dives back underground, and continues on it's journey rather than collecting in a cave somewhere nearby. He is rewarded, however, with the apparent purity of the water, and is pretty sure it would make for a fine brew.
Svala is sure that she spots a shadow overhead...maybe a hawk above the trees...maybe more. Not threatening necessarily as of yet, but...
Meanwhile, Muradin stands guard.
When Avogadro finishes refreshing his feet, Braggi refills his canteen in the cool stream. Happy and smiling, he walks back to the camp and see what have they managed to get for dinner.
"Carrots? Damn..."
Tarrow hums softly while the hunters do their thing. Having failed to find neither the source of the spring nor the cavern into which it fed, he scours the local wood for herbs, berries, mushrooms, and other edibles.
Garrett shrugs at Silas not telling him where the food is and will go start looking for the food in the rear cart.