Shadow of the Demon Lord IC

[Hemnon]

The Emperor is dead, strangled to death by Drudge who has now crowned himself the Orc King and has claimed the Alabaster Throne as his. The emperor is in an upheavel, shaken to it's core with any petty lord seeking to fortify his or her holdings from savage orc raiders, bandits, etc.

But, up in the Northern Reach, beyond the Tumble Downs, above the Shield Mountains, the horror and terror of what had happened in the south is much, MUCH lessened. Only some minor unruliness and a small increase in banditry. However, to a small village due east of the Barrow, that increase in banditry has made any harvest travel to other villages or even the bigger towns like Crossings or Sixton into an increasingly-dangerous trip. Even when you have an armed guard and stand tall with half a dozen or more people it is still not a safe, casual thing to travel from the village.
And that village is where you're all in. For whatever reason you each find yourselves there in this small humble village, be it due to a prior job, that you actually live there, being just a mere traveler, etc. At the moment you've all accepted to join a small caravan of people ,tallying you all up to around 8 folk, along with a few carts filled with cargo pulled by oxen, not horses.
The reward given is a shilling each, along with paid food and lodgings until the return to the village, and all that is expected of each of you, is to help ensure the carts arrive at Sixton intact, it's wares undamaged (which is an assortment of grains, meats of primarily the fish-variety, and lastly a mixture of fish-oils that can be used for alchemical purposes.

Right now, you're all about ready to leave with the carts. There's no room for sitting, except for the cart-drivers that keep the oxen in line, so it's a trip on foot for all of you, unless you can give one of the cart-drivers a reason to swap places with you.

[Galagaman]

Foot refuses any sort of transportation, if ever offered to him. Instead, he elects to walk next to the cart, as he has done in so many campaigns previously, marching in lockstep with his staff perched against his shoulder as if simulating an actual martial weapon he used to carry.

[em.]

As befits his station, Balthazaar sit easily astride of one several horses - followed by his men, Lars and Plimsin, all easily keeping pace with the slow caravan. His tour to test the waters and take the temperament of several villages and townships had taken longer than he'd bargained for, with the recent uptick in lawlessness after The News from the South.

The shilling was a trifling affair, and he was certain could be put to good use on dinner and a round for these homely folks: really, it was more about safety in numbers and not having to keep watch in a trio.

Not that he slept so easily, these days, what between the leg and the dreams.

[Ionbound]

Gwyneira sits within the caravan's middle wagon, annoyed at the general lack of armaments provided. All she has is a dagger and a sling, so she's elected to remain within the wagon and leap out and ambush any bandits, should they appear. She still looks very anxious, twiddling with her fingers as she resists the urge to poke her head out and look around.

[cigaw]

Twig Hugh Cooper (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23419562&postcount=4)

Twig joins the caravan mostly out of curiosity and to keep a bit closer to Gwyneira and Foot. Both the humble yet fiery woman and the philosopher automaton fascinate him.

So Hugh Cooper, the portly Heraldic Scholar, sets foot near his only acquaintances. Unwilling to start any conversations during the din caused by the group setting off, Hugh waits for a better opening. In the meantime, he flashes one of his warm, winning smiles at anyone who meets his eye.

[Hemnon]

The Road ahead was bumbling, uneven and quite par for the average imperial roads, when not compared with the more central Imperial Highways.
Pavel Sonderson, the caravan-merchant leader (aka. the guy who hired each of you) was sitting up front, driving the foremost of the wagons, with Gwyneira being within the middle wagon.
Twig was walking beside Gwyneira's wagon, while Foot was in the back, covering the rearmost oxen-pulled wagon. Balthazaar and his horse-seated entourage of a servant and a personal guard, were riding between the mid-wagon and the foremost wagon.

In the rearmost wagon was a very pale man holding the reigns of the oxen pulling the wagon, hooded and becloaked, looking as if he was not a fan of the sharp sunlight. On the opposite side of the rearmost wagon, well, opposite to Foot specifically, was a hardened-looking veteran, wearing basic metal-plated armor, clasped greaves and vambraces, all of it carrying the heraldry of the Imperial Army. His two-handed sword, which was slanted over his back in a balanced format, had notches and stains which even the hardiest of care seemed to be unable to fully deal with.

On the back-flap of the frontmost-wagon sat a person who looked around 16 at most, holding a bow in hands, eyes scanning the area behind everyone, being the careful watcher to help ensure the avoidance of a rear-ambush by beasts or worse.
---------------------------

Nothing very exhilarating had happened the last few hours, except for a wayward sheep running over the uneven road, bah-ing and jingling as the bell around it's throat bopped and bounces with each step.

(A chance for each of you to either talk with eachother or one or more of the NPCs. all have been mentioned, with the caravan leader, the hooded pale fella, the aged soldier-veteran and the young scout-style bow-holder.)

[Galagaman]

Foot drops speed in his lockstep, then swivels behind the wagon, and marches up next to the hardened veteran. While not breaking his march, Foot's head swiveled suddenly to look at the veteran , and he asked in the most genial tone his robot voice could imitate, calling out "Hail friend! My name is Foot, former soldier. You seemed to be martially-dressed, and I was wondering if you ever participated in a campaign, and which?". Foot's forged face is set into a permanent blank look, with his mouth forming a long emotionless rectangle across his face. Still, Foot hoped his tone could carry out his curiosity and interest to the stranger.

[cigaw]

Twig Hugh Cooper (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23419562&postcount=4)

Twig looks around, noting the people that make up the caravan; every now and again he tries to catch a glimpse of the wagon contents to see if there’s anything worth more closer investigation.

As he’s peeking at the wagon’s contents Twig notices Gwyneira and how she appears to be on edge. He tries to catch her eye and make conversation. Using his best “friendly uncle” tone of voice he addresses her. ”Hi there! How’s everything looking over there young lady?”

[Ionbound]

Gwyneira nods to Hugh and replies, a smile coming to her face, "Well enough. Just...Cooped up. I'd like to be hunting. But...Instead I'm stuck in here, waiting for something to happen or for us to get where we're going, whichever happens first."

[Hemnon]

The aged Veteran looked at Foot with a mix of pity, interest and respect. It would seem he knew a bit about Clockworks and might even have worked with them and fought alongside some in his years as a soldier.
"Greetings, Foot, I am Baelen. Well that was rather.... forward. But, yes I did. The Beastmen-incursion 50 years ago... I spend 3 years of early adult life fighting, killing and surviving. After that, I really had no other proficiencies than using a blade. Can I ask why you wanted to know?" The aged warrior, Baelen, asked back with a stern gaze.

While Twig and Gwyneira chatted, the wind picked up a tiny bit, blowing from behind, causing everyone's clothes to flap and flick. The wind didn't seem to die down either. There was nothing.... offputting to the wind though, no odd sensation, unwholesome smells, nothing. Just a fresh windy breeze that didn't stop.

The young, bow-holder who seems like either a very pretty boy, or an athletic girl with shortcropped hair, had his/her eyes scannign the horizon, needing to squint a bit from the sudden rush of wind. And yes, it did seem like the young boy/girl had troubles NOT gazing at Balthazaar from time to time with a keen interest in the fanciful-looking fella.

Pavel Sonderson, the caravan leader seemed to not say much or be overtly chatty, or maybe it was the wind which carried the sounds away from everyone.

A slow, creeping fog seemed to roll slowly and gently over the distance, as was visible through the mild-patched trees at the far sides of the Road. The air itself also began to feel more and more moist as time went on, but it was still hours, if not more, before that fog would reach the caravan-group.

[Galagaman]

Foot continues marching with his body facing forward while his head is unnaturally staring in Baelen's direction. "My handlers taught me to follow my superior's directions, and never to dismiss the wisdom of a veteran. Who knows how your knowledge will serve me in future conflicts." Foot delivers this statement in a cheerful voice, although he does not expect Baelen to understand what future conflict Foot refers to. To Foot, a physical war and a spiritual war held the same significance in his mind, and any wisdom and advantage for one clearly transferred to the other.

[Hemnon]

Gwyneira's sharp eye caught something odd about the roiling mist. It was, for whatever reason, enclosing on the caravan's location with a slow inevitability to it. as if an intelligence was guiding it. Or at least that's what it seemed like from the distance.
Whatever the case, the misty fog would catch up to the caravan before they'd reach the Traveler's Respite, a small off-the-road Inn where travelling folk couid stay, get a bite to eat and a bed to sleep it. It even had it's own small-group of soldiers who are just egging out a living through guarding the inn from bandits, beasts and worse.
It would be at the Traveler's Respite that the half-way mark would be reached.

Baelen, the aged Veteran Soldier, looked at Foot once more, a curious expression beneath his low rim helmet. "Your former handlers were part-idiots then. One should listen to wisdom, but one should also think for one's self and evaluate if age is enough to gain wisdom, or if being wise enough to let age grant a sense of wisdom." The aged warrior replied and turned his head a bit soutwest-ward, His eyes distant and thoughts caught in memories.

[Ionbound]

Gwyneira frowns as she watches the fog for a moment, then calls out, "Something about the fog is weird...It's like it's following us, trying to encircle us!"