Ardurious
2014-04-30, 10:49 AM
A Simple Delay
It has been hours now since the caravan was stopped. The sun is high in the sky and has already begun its descent towards the mountains on the horizon. The day has grown cool, and scattered fog floats through the valley around the stopped wagons. Imperial soldiers patrol the area, awaiting the arrival of their commander.
The owner of the wagons and the goods within - a portly and perpetually-inebriated fellow by the name of Donnel - sits on the bench of the lead wagon. Three Imperial soldiers surround him. They appear to be questioning him, as they have been since the caravan was stopped. His shoulders are slumped and he looks continuously at the ground, only turning his gaze up to the soldiers every so often to answer. He looks exhausted.
A young human leans against the wheel of one of the wagons, absentmindedly strumming a lyre. Sitting on the back of the same wagon, a giant of a woman dangles her feet, idly kicking them about. Her legs are nearly long enough to scrape against the ground. Some ways off, a pair of young halfmen - a gnome and a halfling girl - talk amongst themselves.
After some time, an Imperial soldier approaches the small group. He is a dragonborn - as are a good number of the others present - armored in a heavy coat of overlapping metal scales and with a thick sword strapped to his belt. A heavy metal kite shield sits upon his back, held loosely in place by strips of leather. He looks young, at least in comparison to the others patrolling about. He stops a few feet from the wagon, looking at each of those gathered around it in turn.
"We do apologize for the hold-up. I'm told it won't be much longer now," he says, giving the bunch a half-hearted smile, "You'll all be on your way soon enough."
It has been hours now since the caravan was stopped. The sun is high in the sky and has already begun its descent towards the mountains on the horizon. The day has grown cool, and scattered fog floats through the valley around the stopped wagons. Imperial soldiers patrol the area, awaiting the arrival of their commander.
The owner of the wagons and the goods within - a portly and perpetually-inebriated fellow by the name of Donnel - sits on the bench of the lead wagon. Three Imperial soldiers surround him. They appear to be questioning him, as they have been since the caravan was stopped. His shoulders are slumped and he looks continuously at the ground, only turning his gaze up to the soldiers every so often to answer. He looks exhausted.
A young human leans against the wheel of one of the wagons, absentmindedly strumming a lyre. Sitting on the back of the same wagon, a giant of a woman dangles her feet, idly kicking them about. Her legs are nearly long enough to scrape against the ground. Some ways off, a pair of young halfmen - a gnome and a halfling girl - talk amongst themselves.
After some time, an Imperial soldier approaches the small group. He is a dragonborn - as are a good number of the others present - armored in a heavy coat of overlapping metal scales and with a thick sword strapped to his belt. A heavy metal kite shield sits upon his back, held loosely in place by strips of leather. He looks young, at least in comparison to the others patrolling about. He stops a few feet from the wagon, looking at each of those gathered around it in turn.
"We do apologize for the hold-up. I'm told it won't be much longer now," he says, giving the bunch a half-hearted smile, "You'll all be on your way soon enough."