The Kingdom of Cambria has long dominated naval trade along the coast of the Amethyst Ocean to the west. A massive hub for trade and culture, it is said that whether you are desperate or enterprising, Cambria has ought for you. If you are looking for something, chances are it will pass through Cambria. If it doesn't, word of it will. And if someone is looking for you, you will find it is quite easy to disappear and become someone else in the crowded streets of Talmouth, Cambria's capital city.
However, naval passage into Cambria has grown more and more expensive over the last several years, and land routes are few and far between. The Shield Mountains form Cambria's natural border, arcing from the coast to the north to the coast in the south, and there are few who would risk the branching trails of the Shield Pass through the mountains, especially this late in the year.
This is a world where different cultures have very different views on magic. In Cambria, like on most of the continent, magic is not unheard of, though it is not common in people's day-to-day lives. It is the kind of place where anyone you talk to may boast of having a friend of a cousin who knows a guy who can shape fire with his mind, and word is that the Khorinian Empress north of the wintery Veil has a retinue of powerful wizards at her disposal. But many with magical gifts of one kind or another choose to keep their abilities to themselves.
There is very little consensus on religion and the origins of the planet or the people. There is no unified pantheon. A farmer may believe in a local god of harvest, some benign spirit, or just general weather-based superstition. In the cities you may find an assortment of small churches or temples devoted to various gods or pantheons, offering their own explanations for what the sky is made of or why halflings are short. Some may claim the only beings watching us are devils from below, tempting us and waiting to pray on our wickedness. Still others claim that all of existence can be explained by natural phenomena. But one sentiment shared by most in this part of the land is that this is not a world of miracles. Whatever immortal entities may exist, few believe they ever directly act in the world's affairs, besides the odd cleric or paladin order. Claims of an act of god are usually met with skepticism and ridicule from the general populace.
This is also a land of imperfect information. News typically travels slowly, physically, and by word of mouth. For every true thing a Tensmith miner may have heard about the fire genasi on the Smoking Sands, or about the petty conflict between Teyra'athal and Madurst on the Venn Canal, they have likely heard and passed on ten rumours that get wilder with every telling.
Without further ado, let's introduce our characters!
Two horses in bright blue caparisons approach the rocky foothills of the Shield Mountains, an armoured rider on each of their backs. In unison, the riders pull up their reins, bring the horses to a halt. The rider on the right pulls off her helmet and tucks it under an arm, revealing a head freshly shaved despite the three days of hard travel. Her every move is tight and smooth and disciplined as she reaches a hand out to take the reins from the other rider.
"Well, we're here Marion," she says, holding both sets of reins as the other rider dismounts and begin hooking up a lead rope to her horse. "I'll see your steed safely back to the keep. Are you sure you want to make this trip in your armour? No, never mind. I understand why you're doing it. Just be safe, remember your training, and keep your pack dry."
Meanwhile, miles down the road to Marion's south, a high-sided wagon rumbles along the grooves in the hard-packed dirt road, drawn along by two painted horses with braided manes. Two tattooed orcs in loose linen shirts sit in the box seat up front. The orc on the left is absently chewing a piece of straw with his right arm draped over the back of seat behind his partner, who is gripping the reins in a hand and a prosthetic hook. His left arm ends just past the the elbow, but has been fitted with a simple but functional wood and metal limb.
Not yet a kilometer out of the town of Tibben, the orc on the left sits up straight turns to look over his shoulder. "Hold up, Garret," he nudges the driver. "We got someone incomin'."
"Another one?" Garret huffs. He slows the wagon to a stop. From behind, a black-haired half-elf man comes running up panting and waving them down. "Easy there, fella! We see ya, we see ya," Garret calls out. "Ya need a ride? I'm Garret, an' this is Hanlin. You can hop up with th'other guy in the back. But be quick about it!" He turns to address a half orc sitting in the back of the wagon. "Ya said yer name was Samir, right?" Back to the half-elf he says, "Samir here was kind enough to fix up this arm o' mine, so I'm feelin' generous today, ha!"
At that very moment, back in Tibben, a man with a hole in his cloak where a family crest may once have been emblazoned walks up the town's single street towards the stables at the town's northern edge. A half-dwarf, though you wouldn't know it by his height alone, the 5'10" pillar of muscle and steel doesn't even flinch as a village girl, not looking where she is going crashes into him from behind and gets knocked onto her back. She looks up at him eyes wide and stammers, "S-sorry," as two more village children run past shouting.
"No way, Fern says yer full of it!" shouts one of the boys to the other.
"I swear, I'm tellin' the truth this time. Look! There! I told you there were a flame-folk here."
Turning to look up the road, the half dwarf does indeed see a fire genasi woman, a rare sight in these parts, at the stables apparently trying with great difficulty to acquire a mount. The woman the genasi is talking to is leaning up against a post with her arms crossed stubbornly shaking her head. "First off, I don't know how you do things out on the Sands, but here if you want somethin' yer gonna have ta pay for it. Second, these horses isn't mine to sell. I'm just tendin' 'em while their owners go about their business. Thirdly, I don't got no flame-proof saddles," she says, clearly disregarding the fact that the genasi is wearing clothes just fine without them combusting. "And fourthly, as I already said, aint no horse gonna get you through the Shield Pass at this time of year. You either go on foot, or you turn around and head back."
Ashley blows her hair up from her bottom lip in an almost pout with frustration. The young fire genasi is dressed in decent travelers clothes, dusty though it is hard to tell as the color of them match the desert. The sleeves and pants turn to a fire red with etchings that look like they are burnt in. Her auburn hair is worn wild around her face and down her back, the tips of her hair ablaze as she simmers in irritation.
This woman is beyond difficult! She tries her best to control the level of her voice as she replies to the ridiculous notions. "One, you haven't even given me a price so how can you tell I won't pay for it. Two, I'm sure you have some ol hag in the back that no one wants. Three, things don't just combust off of me and what would you care after I purchase it? And fourth, I can decide for myself if a horse is gonna get me through the Shield Pass or not."And she glares back at the woman, daring her to defy her more.
As the two riders come to a halt Marion dismounts with a practiced ease born of years of training and discipline, the athletic young woman seemingly not burdened by the heavy mail armour she wears beneath a white tabard emblazoned with an azure blue rose at it's centre. Though her companion speaks to her Marion's gaze has not left the rocky foothills ahead of them, and as she removes her own helmet a look of sheer determination and resolve is written plain across her fair skinned and plain features
She stands for a few moments, her tightly braided red hair blowing gently in the wind, as she contemplates what is to come, her thoughts seemingly far away from here.
Abruptly, her thoughts clearly turning towards the here and now once more, she turns back and begins taking her pack and other belongings from her horse. Speaking in a formal tone, as if a soldier speaking to their superior, she replies: "Thank you Lady Kasores, it is an honour that you chose to ride with me. I will not forget what the Order has taught me, I could not have asked for a better teacher than Sir Ennerd." Pausing for a moment she looks up to the sky and smiles warmly before she continues. "Besides, our Lady watches over me. Her presence will guide me through danger should it find me."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The man leaned against the wagon, breathing heavily. “A thousand thanks, friends,”he gasps. He quickly climbs aboard the back of the wagon before the driver can change his mind and settles into a corner. “Where are you heading?”
The man was dressed in woolen pants, mid-calf leather boots, and a fine woolen jacket with embroidery worked through the sleeves and high collar. His dark hair hung down to his collar and hid his ears and he had a short, well-kept beard. A closer inspection revealed that the heels of his boots were rundown and his jacket was threadbare and worn in places and his pack was hastily thrown together.
Turning his attention to the wagon bed, he takes a cursory look to see what the orcs are hauling (Perception: 19) and looks at the other passenger with piercing blue eyes. “Samir, is it? Fine work with that arm. What brings you to the back of a wagon leaving Tibben?”
At the mention of his name, the young half-orc looks up quickly, as if his thoughts had been elsewhere until that moment. The light glints briefly on the lenses of the armless spectacles perched on his nose as he turns to speak, but before a word emerges the orc has plowed on and Samir settles back into his corner quietly.
He regards the stranger with something of an awkward expression on his handsome face, his hand fiddling with the strap of an embroidered leather satchel that would hang across his body, but is for the moment tucked into his lap. Though dusty from the road, it is clear that his clothing is of excellent quality, a long coat of deep blue over a heavy gray shirt and pants. A silver ring adorns his left pinkie finger, and his hair is cut in a stylish, short manner with obvious care. Just small indications that, perhaps, poverty was not an issue in this man's life.
"Oh, uh, yes, Samir. A pleasure to meet you, sir. I am, uh, headed over the mountains. A business trip, you could say."
Lady Kasores gives a small but kind smile back and says, "Guide you she shall." Reaching into a saddle bag on her right, she pulls out a 3-inch long strip of paper and holds it up before her. With a snap of her fingers the paper goes up in blue flame and as it is quickly consumed by the fire, Marion feels a warmth within her chest that spreads to her fingertips and toes, imbuing her with a heightened vigour.
"Go with her blessing. We will all be awaiting your return to Lady's Keep." With that, Kasores dons her helmet, straps her saddle bag closed, and heads back down the path by which she came, holding the other horse's lead rope and leaving Marion to her quest.
The Shield Mountains loom before Marion. From where she stands, the narrow dirt path starts climbing sharply, twisting between rocky crags until it drops out of sight over a high ridge that has already begun to collect snow for the year. As Marion looks on, she notices a snowflake fall before her face, followed by another. She had not realized how cold it had gotten, though the flakes quickly melt upon hitting the ground. From what she has heard about the pass, she knows that if this is to become a full snowstorm, there is no time to waste.
The boulder-like half-dwarf grins crookedly at the small girl, kneeling down to her level to help her up. His accent is hard to place. From someplace far to the east.
"First lesson, young divka. Never be apologizing when you are doing nothing wrong. Not to Joren here," he points to himself, "Nor ever to those chlapci there." (pointing to the two running boys, grin deepening).
"Let me be showing you a trick." Joren takes out a copper piece, intentionally failing the Sleight of Hand check to make it dance along his fingers. "No, not that trick. This one."
He makes a mock fearsome face at the retreating backs of the boys, palming the copper and handing it to the girl surreptitiously. "Only you - you be doing it to their face. When you are wanting them to leave you alone. Always is coming, a time for that. Leaving you alone..." He smiles again, slightly more wistfully, and encourages the girl to follow her friends.
It's hard not to stare at the striking fire genasi. Rare indeed in these parts. But I am an outsider as well. Always have been, perhaps.
Joren shakes his head to himself, touching the well-used, but honed and oiled greatsword at his back for luck absently, then running his hand once through his thick, reddish-brown hair. He approaches and observes the conversation at the stables at a nearby but respectful distance. At a break in the conversation he drawls, laconically at the human woman tending the stables:
"Being bright and fiery, the lady, but her points are seeming sound. Perhaps we can be reviewing how best to treat customers who are trying to put money in your till?"
He nods respectfully at the genasi and stands behind her to the side, to be clear he is not trying to cut the line.
The straw-chewing orc, Hanlin, has fully turned around to face the two passengers, leaning on crossed arms on the back of his seat. "We're headin' back ta our range. Got our goats and sheep ta look after. Were just in Tibben fer a spot a business. And a spot is about all it ended up bein'," he says, waving a hand at the back of the wagon where Samir and Malachi sit amidst unsold wares. Looking around, Malachi sees stuffed sacks of wool, and clay jugs of what he assumes to be milk. In one corner is also a stack of thick wool lined cloaks.
"I still say it's fools business, that. Headin' up the pass, and this late in the year?" Garret lightly knocks Hanlin in the arm with his hook. "Fools' business it may be, but it's also his business, not ours," he chides. Hanlin shrugs and then notices Malachi's eyes on the cloaks.
"Ah we did manage ta' get those put together by a friend of ours usin' our wool, so the trip wasn't a complete waste." He gets a pensive look on his face, and then turns to Garret. No words pass between them, but they seem to have a quick exchange with their eyebrows before Garret nods and turns back to the road. Hanlin looks to Samir and says "Now listen here. Goin' up those mountains in what ye've got, ye'll freeze ta ice in a single night, no two ways about it. But we've got some extra cloaks there, an' the wool ta make more. What we don't have much of is coin. We'd be more'n happy to part with one or two in exchange for two-"
"Three," Garret interrupts with a smile.
"-I mean three gold pieces each. With a cloak like this, ya might not even lose any fingers to the cold! What do ya say?" Hanlin asks with a grin, holding his hand to out Samir for a shake and wiggling all of his fingers for emphasis on his last point.
The girl watches Joren intently, still wide eyed as he plays with the coin. When he makes his face at the boys, she lets out a small giggle which she quickly covers with her hand. With the coin pressed into her other hand she smiles, still seeming a bit dazed by the whole interaction with the peculiar man, before running off looking down at her prize clutched now in both hands.
Joren chimes into the conversation by the stables just as the lady opens her mouth to counter Ashley's points. She sets her jaw and taps her toe as she listens. When he's finished, she looks him up and down, taking in the fine armour and weaponry. She sighs, her pride clearly a little hurt, but when she speaks again her tone has softened a bit.
"Looks like you're a long way from home too, soldier. Listen," she turns back to Ashley, but addresses her next words to both of the travelers. "I'm not saying I don't want to help. I just can't. If I had an extra horse of me own kickin' about... well I'd have sold it long ago. Got no need for two horses meself. But, if I hadn't sold it yet, I'd offer it up to you. But as I-"
She trails off as the most bearded half-elf either Joren or Ashley have ever seen walks up and places a friendly hand on the stable-woman's shoulder. "Hey, it's alright Lisa. I think I might be able to help." He turns to Ashley. "You looking to head up through Liezse Valley? And how about you, friend?" he says, looking at Joren. He starts unhitching two horses as he talks "I tell you what, my name's Daerwul, I've my steed here, and a packhorse beside. I was looking to buy some goat milk off the Chomers, but it seems I've just missed them. I'm going to try and catch up to them before they get too far away from town, and until I do, my beast of burden here's got no burden. If the two of you don't mind sharing a horse for a bit, you could come along. Otherwise," he gestures to Joren, "You could ride with me and we let the lady have her own. Once we catch up, heck, you might even be able to talk Hanlin and Garret into giving you a ride further."
He holds out the reins in offer. "In exchange, alls I ask is a coin and a story. Something from a faraway land that I can tell my kids when I get home late tonight." He winks cheerily.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Joren looks at Daerwul and the fire genasi circumspectly, not wanting to presume. "Joren Kryn," he drawls in a liquid, far eastern accent by way of introduction and gives a nod and a polite but crooked grin towards both her, Daerwul and Lisa. Being new to the area and not familiar with customs and idioms, he would try to determine by body language and other cues whether the offer is made in good faith and sincerity, though he is almost certain that it is and will go along regardless.
"Speaking for the lady, I cannot do, particularly as I am just now meeting her, and with both of you the same. Thanking you for your offer Daerwul, I would be happy to accompany you as well as her, as I am indeed heading that direction. To Talmouth eventually if my luck is holding. But I am thinking the lady should be having her own horse."
"As for me, I can even be walking for part of the way as I am having a few... tricks to be catching up," Joren allows mysteriously, "and your horse's doubtful look in my direction is telling me that they will not enjoy supporting the weight of both me and my chain mail along with you. But a bit of coin, within reason, I am having, and a story too, though perhaps not one as enthralling as the lady may tell. All I would be asking further in exchange is advice on these mountains we are to be crossing soon. Would you be recommending buying any equipment before we are departing? Warmer clothing perhaps?"
As stated, Joren would defer on story-telling to the fire genasi if she would like to tell one first. If not, or if time permits afterwards, he would consider a moment, thinking that the story must be suitable for children, then tell a both funny and melancholy tale. One of a somewhat bumbling, but honorable paladin who seemed to succeed almost by accident at making numerous, widely-varied friends and saving his city, all while losing the favor of his stern and comically pompous religious elders. Ultimately, the paladin is unjustly exiled, which is implied at the end to be a blessing in truth as much as a punishment, though the paladin does not yet realize it (but his newfound friends and listeners to the story do).
(He would of course also attempt to determine what kind of coin Daerwul is asking for).
Samir eyes the orc's outstretched hand, a number of thoughts going through his mind. Firstly, that he had made a hefty mistake in overlooking the cold weather gear he would need. Too many distracting things had gotten in the way of that thought. Secondly, was the idea of paying three gold coins for one of those cloaks, and how disappointed his parents would be for not working to get a better deal. But the truth was, the two were being extremely helpful to him on this trip already. And besides, perhaps a bit of generosity in the matter could pay off in the future.
"Three gold coins?" Samir had to push a bit to get his voice to not squeak on the words, pausing to clear his throat. "Three coins seems an absolute steal for your wonderful merchandise, my friend. Your help is greatly appreciated."
Wearing what he felt was his best convincing, professional smile, Samir shook the other man's hand for a moment before digging out a trio of gold pieces, their markings clearly placing them as minted in Madurst.
Madurst, Tibben, and the farmlands between have been a bit of a culture shock for Joren. People are quick to notice one looking so ready for war as he, but that he had anticipated. What's been throwing Joren off is the body language. The rural folk out here seem to have an openness and forwardness to their body language that is quite different from Joren's homeland in the Khirian Dynasty, and at first Joren had thought it was aggression or disrespect. They stand closer when talking, are free and relaxed in their movements, and are quick to communicate with touch. A pat on the back, a nudge on the arm, a prod in the chest... Joren chalks it up to the difference between a relatively peaceful agrarian society and one that has been in a military stalemate for centuries. There, personal space among adults is generally respected as sacred.
Nevertheless, Joren still finds it difficult at times to get a read on these people. He's not sure what deceptive or 'unusual' behaviour would look like. But Daerwul's bearded smile seems to touch his sharp eyes, and perhaps that is good enough.
"The mountains?" Daerwul looks at Ashley. "And you too?"
"That's what she says," Lisa confirms.
Daerwul scratches the back of his neck. "Gosh, well my best advice on crossing them would be 'don't,' but if the two of you are stubborn enough to hold your own against Lisa here, I'll offer you my second best advice." He leads the horses out of the stable and onto the road, handing the reins for one over to Ashley. "Stay warm and stay dry. Once you let either the cold or the damp in, it's not leaving you until you leave the mountains. And if you get caught in a snow storm, turn back or forge ahead, all or nothing. You do not want to overnight in the Shield. The trip is doable, but you have to want it. I went a few times when I was younger, but that was a long time ago. Now, I lack the want. At any rate, if we want to catch up, we should be hitting the road." He swings up onto the back of one horse.
The man’s eyes open wide at Samir’s response and he slides over to the other side of the wagon to sit next to the half-orc. “A business trip, and over the mountains, how exciting. I am a bit of a businessman myself, mostly buying and selling, or trading.” He sticks out his hand “Call me Mal. I am always seeking new ventures, what kind of business are you in?”
Mal arches an eyebrow as Samir digs out the three gold pieces to pay for the cloak, noticing the Madust marks. “A wise investment. Most tend to avoid the passes, they are difficult to travel in the best of circumstances, let alone this late in the year. Why cross at all, is there no business for you farther up the valley?”
Hills pass by on either side of the wagon, dotted by small copses of trees. The occasional mountain goat can be seen in the areas where the hills give way to steeper slopes rising up to the grey sky above.
"Nice to meet you, Mal," Garret calls back. "For a trader, ya sure do travel light. But then, that's none of our business." At Mal's comment about the valley, Hanlin interjects, "Not much north of the valley but for the Veil, and that's even worse'n the Shield Pass. And that's before you add the Khorinian goliaths on the other side."
Hanlin shows the coins to Garret who grunts in appreciation. "Looks like today weren't a waste after all," Garret chuckles. "I like you, Samir. I tell ya what, root 'round back there and ya should be able to find me spare boots. They might be a bit bi-"
He is cut off abruptly by a piercing howl. Hanlin snaps to a standing position and scans the hills. "Damn! Wolves coming. Must smell the sheep on us!"
Garret snaps the reins and shouts "Hyah," spurring the horses to break into a run. Looking around, Samir and Malachi can see a spread out pack of wolves descending upon the wagon from the hills to the left. The horses manage to get past the wolves and seem to be outpacing them, but just barely. The wolves are following along behind, and with the heavy load of the wagon, it may only be a matter of time before the horses begin to tire and slow.
Ashley relaxes a bit when the lady at the stables changes her tone when addressing her. Her hair is no longer flaming, more of an ember glow. She smiles at the newcomer in thanks. Odd, she thinks, first time a stranger here has actually been helpful.She looks at him again, and it dawns on her, ah, it’s because he is a stranger as well. At least things make sense.
As she is contemplating her situation her spirits fall as she realizes she has a long ways to go to get to Shield’s Pass, and apparently without a horse. Or even a donkey. She is about to respond to the lady and a very bearded half-elf interjects kindly, so she holds her tongue.
After hearing his proposal, she first pauses to introduce herself, “Thank you for your kind words and offer. My name is Ashley Moon, but you can call me Ash, or Ashley, whatever you prefer.”When Joren responds with his offer to let her have her own horse on their shared journey, she pipes up, “Well, aren’t you a gentleman! Can’t say I have run into many of those!” and she looks to both of you, “And here I am, looking at two of them! What a day, what a lucky day!”She then addresses Lisa, “See, I’ll be fine over the Shield Pass, it’s my lucky day!”
As they start heading out and getting saddled up, she inquires, “What coin would you like, good sir? And can I say, goat milk?! That sounds exquisite! Any way for me to try some before we part ways? Oh, I’d just love to, it sounds so creamy!” Once they get on their way, she thinks a bit and starts…
She tells them the story of how she lives in the Smoking Sands desert and how the land there is so arid and dry, and how she yearns to see the ocean and of different lands than of her own. She describes her home area as best she can as she can tell neither of her companions have been anywhere near it. She tells them a bit on how she became a sorcerer, though she is new at it and is learning as she goes, “When the power from the Gods came upon me, well, I did burst into flames! Completely! Every stitch of clothing was ash by the time the flames extinguished. It was a bit embarrassing, good thing I was alone!”she ends her story on how sorcery magic was shunned a bit by her tribe and how she has decided to try things out as an adventurer!
She ends on a high note, and a smile, but you can see the tinge of sadness in her eyes about leaving home.
As Ashley, Joren, and Daerwul ride forth, talking and exchanging stories, Joren goes back and forth between riding on Daerwul's horse and walking along behind to give it a break from his weight. The first time Daerwul looks back to make sure Joren isn't falling too far behind, he notes the half-dwarf is a ways back.
Blink.
Suddenly Daerwul thinks he must be seeing double.
Blink.
Now Joren is right behind the horse, keeping up just fine.
(Joren)
Make a Con check DC 10 with advantage for splitting your time between walking and riding.
The half-elf rubs his eyes and turns forward again, feeling a little dizzy. "Well I don't know about any of that," he mumbles to himself. "The kids'll never believe this."
OOC: Second roll with advantage rolled in private chat with DM, got a 15. No clue why first roll says I manipulated it, but if so, I manipulated it to get a 6! Thankfully I had advantage so the 15 counts...
While he is riding and listening to Ashley's story, Joren finds himself both fascinated by the sorcerer's homeland and what's more, deeply sympathizes with her choice at the end of it.
Shunned by your tribe for simply being what you are - so you set out to be an adventurer. Good on you lass!
He stifles a deep chuckle, trying and mostly succeeding in preventing his imagination from jumping to the obvious mental image when the fiery lady speaks of burning her own clothes off. At least not as embarrassing as the drill early on when I found myself switching spots inadvertently with my echo while it was hovering over a latrine pit... he considers telling that story instead of the one he had chosen but decides against it for now.
Joren then takes a shift walking, with the odd falling behind, then duplicate image, then back up with the horses effect.
When he mounts again, he drawls out his story of the unwittingly heroic paladin (above). "Is not so much a true personal story as the lady's tale was seeming, yes? Common folk yarn, mine, as I am remembering. But connecting back to real life at least a little, as all the best stories are," adds Joren with a lopsided grin.
Samir seems to brighten at Malachi's declaration of being a businessman himself. Perhaps this was a chance to make a connection to help out mother and father? Alas, before he is able to continue the conversation, a frightful howl carries over them, causing instant alarm in his two hosts. He rises up to his knees to better peer over the edge, even as the wagon picks up speed. He staggers for a moment, but steadies himself with one hand on the rough wooden surface. Samir's agile mind, while unused to dealing with wild animal attacks, can easily see that the horses cannot keep up such a pace and that the wolves show no signs of giving up. For a moment, his free hand drops to an elongated leather case that had previously been hidden between his body and the side of the cart, but he pauses as if considering.
"No, perhaps we can ward them away with another method."
The half-orc drops back into a sitting position with a thump, his hands moving in a flurry between pockets and his satchel. Suddenly there are delicate tools and small pieces of metal in his hands that click and clatter against one another as he deftly begins tinkering with them. But a moment later,he is twisting it all together with a decisive click. Samir scrambles to shove his tools back in his pocket, simultaneously pushing himself towards the back of the wagon, laying almost flat out. The small mass of odds and ends he has assembled begins to vibrate before various pieces within its cage-like shell begin spinning around.
"You may wish to cover your ears, I don't know how loud this will be!"
The whirring of tiny gears seems to reach a fever pitch, and suddenly an ear-splitting keening issues from the device, high and painful to listen to. It seems to warble up and down with the imperfection of the hasty assembly, but still retains its awfulness. With one hand outstretched and the other covering an ear, Samir grits his teeth and stares at the wolves, willing them to find the noise distasteful enough to simply give up.
(OOC. using Magical Tinkering to emit a nonverbal sound in hopes to scare off the wolves.)
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The Kingdom of Cambria has long dominated naval trade along the coast of the Amethyst Ocean to the west. A massive hub for trade and culture, it is said that whether you are desperate or enterprising, Cambria has ought for you. If you are looking for something, chances are it will pass through Cambria. If it doesn't, word of it will. And if someone is looking for you, you will find it is quite easy to disappear and become someone else in the crowded streets of Talmouth, Cambria's capital city.
However, naval passage into Cambria has grown more and more expensive over the last several years, and land routes are few and far between. The Shield Mountains form Cambria's natural border, arcing from the coast to the north to the coast in the south, and there are few who would risk the branching trails of the Shield Pass through the mountains, especially this late in the year.
This is a world where different cultures have very different views on magic. In Cambria, like on most of the continent, magic is not unheard of, though it is not common in people's day-to-day lives. It is the kind of place where anyone you talk to may boast of having a friend of a cousin who knows a guy who can shape fire with his mind, and word is that the Khorinian Empress north of the wintery Veil has a retinue of powerful wizards at her disposal. But many with magical gifts of one kind or another choose to keep their abilities to themselves.
There is very little consensus on religion and the origins of the planet or the people. There is no unified pantheon. A farmer may believe in a local god of harvest, some benign spirit, or just general weather-based superstition. In the cities you may find an assortment of small churches or temples devoted to various gods or pantheons, offering their own explanations for what the sky is made of or why halflings are short. Some may claim the only beings watching us are devils from below, tempting us and waiting to pray on our wickedness. Still others claim that all of existence can be explained by natural phenomena. But one sentiment shared by most in this part of the land is that this is not a world of miracles. Whatever immortal entities may exist, few believe they ever directly act in the world's affairs, besides the odd cleric or paladin order. Claims of an act of god are usually met with skepticism and ridicule from the general populace.
This is also a land of imperfect information. News typically travels slowly, physically, and by word of mouth. For every true thing a Tensmith miner may have heard about the fire genasi on the Smoking Sands, or about the petty conflict between Teyra'athal and Madurst on the Venn Canal, they have likely heard and passed on ten rumours that get wilder with every telling.
Without further ado, let's introduce our characters!
Two horses in bright blue caparisons approach the rocky foothills of the Shield Mountains, an armoured rider on each of their backs. In unison, the riders pull up their reins, bring the horses to a halt. The rider on the right pulls off her helmet and tucks it under an arm, revealing a head freshly shaved despite the three days of hard travel. Her every move is tight and smooth and disciplined as she reaches a hand out to take the reins from the other rider.
"Well, we're here Marion," she says, holding both sets of reins as the other rider dismounts and begin hooking up a lead rope to her horse. "I'll see your steed safely back to the keep. Are you sure you want to make this trip in your armour? No, never mind. I understand why you're doing it. Just be safe, remember your training, and keep your pack dry."
Meanwhile, miles down the road to Marion's south, a high-sided wagon rumbles along the grooves in the hard-packed dirt road, drawn along by two painted horses with braided manes. Two tattooed orcs in loose linen shirts sit in the box seat up front. The orc on the left is absently chewing a piece of straw with his right arm draped over the back of seat behind his partner, who is gripping the reins in a hand and a prosthetic hook. His left arm ends just past the the elbow, but has been fitted with a simple but functional wood and metal limb.
Not yet a kilometer out of the town of Tibben, the orc on the left sits up straight turns to look over his shoulder. "Hold up, Garret," he nudges the driver. "We got someone incomin'."
"Another one?" Garret huffs. He slows the wagon to a stop. From behind, a black-haired half-elf man comes running up panting and waving them down. "Easy there, fella! We see ya, we see ya," Garret calls out. "Ya need a ride? I'm Garret, an' this is Hanlin. You can hop up with th'other guy in the back. But be quick about it!" He turns to address a half orc sitting in the back of the wagon. "Ya said yer name was Samir, right?" Back to the half-elf he says, "Samir here was kind enough to fix up this arm o' mine, so I'm feelin' generous today, ha!"
At that very moment, back in Tibben, a man with a hole in his cloak where a family crest may once have been emblazoned walks up the town's single street towards the stables at the town's northern edge. A half-dwarf, though you wouldn't know it by his height alone, the 5'10" pillar of muscle and steel doesn't even flinch as a village girl, not looking where she is going crashes into him from behind and gets knocked onto her back. She looks up at him eyes wide and stammers, "S-sorry," as two more village children run past shouting.
"No way, Fern says yer full of it!" shouts one of the boys to the other.
"I swear, I'm tellin' the truth this time. Look! There! I told you there were a flame-folk here."
Turning to look up the road, the half dwarf does indeed see a fire genasi woman, a rare sight in these parts, at the stables apparently trying with great difficulty to acquire a mount. The woman the genasi is talking to is leaning up against a post with her arms crossed stubbornly shaking her head. "First off, I don't know how you do things out on the Sands, but here if you want somethin' yer gonna have ta pay for it. Second, these horses isn't mine to sell. I'm just tendin' 'em while their owners go about their business. Thirdly, I don't got no flame-proof saddles," she says, clearly disregarding the fact that the genasi is wearing clothes just fine without them combusting. "And fourthly, as I already said, aint no horse gonna get you through the Shield Pass at this time of year. You either go on foot, or you turn around and head back."
Ashley blows her hair up from her bottom lip in an almost pout with frustration. The young fire genasi is dressed in decent travelers clothes, dusty though it is hard to tell as the color of them match the desert. The sleeves and pants turn to a fire red with etchings that look like they are burnt in. Her auburn hair is worn wild around her face and down her back, the tips of her hair ablaze as she simmers in irritation.
This woman is beyond difficult! She tries her best to control the level of her voice as she replies to the ridiculous notions. "One, you haven't even given me a price so how can you tell I won't pay for it. Two, I'm sure you have some ol hag in the back that no one wants. Three, things don't just combust off of me and what would you care after I purchase it? And fourth, I can decide for myself if a horse is gonna get me through the Shield Pass or not." And she glares back at the woman, daring her to defy her more.
As the two riders come to a halt Marion dismounts with a practiced ease born of years of training and discipline, the athletic young woman seemingly not burdened by the heavy mail armour she wears beneath a white tabard emblazoned with an azure blue rose at it's centre. Though her companion speaks to her Marion's gaze has not left the rocky foothills ahead of them, and as she removes her own helmet a look of sheer determination and resolve is written plain across her fair skinned and plain features
She stands for a few moments, her tightly braided red hair blowing gently in the wind, as she contemplates what is to come, her thoughts seemingly far away from here.
Abruptly, her thoughts clearly turning towards the here and now once more, she turns back and begins taking her pack and other belongings from her horse. Speaking in a formal tone, as if a soldier speaking to their superior, she replies: "Thank you Lady Kasores, it is an honour that you chose to ride with me. I will not forget what the Order has taught me, I could not have asked for a better teacher than Sir Ennerd." Pausing for a moment she looks up to the sky and smiles warmly before she continues. "Besides, our Lady watches over me. Her presence will guide me through danger should it find me."
The man leaned against the wagon, breathing heavily. “A thousand thanks, friends,” he gasps. He quickly climbs aboard the back of the wagon before the driver can change his mind and settles into a corner. “Where are you heading?”
The man was dressed in woolen pants, mid-calf leather boots, and a fine woolen jacket with embroidery worked through the sleeves and high collar. His dark hair hung down to his collar and hid his ears and he had a short, well-kept beard. A closer inspection revealed that the heels of his boots were rundown and his jacket was threadbare and worn in places and his pack was hastily thrown together.
Turning his attention to the wagon bed, he takes a cursory look to see what the orcs are hauling (Perception: 19) and looks at the other passenger with piercing blue eyes. “Samir, is it? Fine work with that arm. What brings you to the back of a wagon leaving Tibben?”
At the mention of his name, the young half-orc looks up quickly, as if his thoughts had been elsewhere until that moment. The light glints briefly on the lenses of the armless spectacles perched on his nose as he turns to speak, but before a word emerges the orc has plowed on and Samir settles back into his corner quietly.
He regards the stranger with something of an awkward expression on his handsome face, his hand fiddling with the strap of an embroidered leather satchel that would hang across his body, but is for the moment tucked into his lap. Though dusty from the road, it is clear that his clothing is of excellent quality, a long coat of deep blue over a heavy gray shirt and pants. A silver ring adorns his left pinkie finger, and his hair is cut in a stylish, short manner with obvious care. Just small indications that, perhaps, poverty was not an issue in this man's life.
"Oh, uh, yes, Samir. A pleasure to meet you, sir. I am, uh, headed over the mountains. A business trip, you could say."
"Go with her blessing. We will all be awaiting your return to Lady's Keep." With that, Kasores dons her helmet, straps her saddle bag closed, and heads back down the path by which she came, holding the other horse's lead rope and leaving Marion to her quest.
The Shield Mountains loom before Marion. From where she stands, the narrow dirt path starts climbing sharply, twisting between rocky crags until it drops out of sight over a high ridge that has already begun to collect snow for the year. As Marion looks on, she notices a snowflake fall before her face, followed by another. She had not realized how cold it had gotten, though the flakes quickly melt upon hitting the ground. From what she has heard about the pass, she knows that if this is to become a full snowstorm, there is no time to waste.
The boulder-like half-dwarf grins crookedly at the small girl, kneeling down to her level to help her up. His accent is hard to place. From someplace far to the east.
"First lesson, young divka. Never be apologizing when you are doing nothing wrong. Not to Joren here," he points to himself, "Nor ever to those chlapci there." (pointing to the two running boys, grin deepening).
"Let me be showing you a trick." Joren takes out a copper piece, intentionally failing the Sleight of Hand check to make it dance along his fingers. "No, not that trick. This one."
He makes a mock fearsome face at the retreating backs of the boys, palming the copper and handing it to the girl surreptitiously. "Only you - you be doing it to their face. When you are wanting them to leave you alone. Always is coming, a time for that. Leaving you alone..." He smiles again, slightly more wistfully, and encourages the girl to follow her friends.
It's hard not to stare at the striking fire genasi. Rare indeed in these parts. But I am an outsider as well. Always have been, perhaps.
Joren shakes his head to himself, touching the well-used, but honed and oiled greatsword at his back for luck absently, then running his hand once through his thick, reddish-brown hair. He approaches and observes the conversation at the stables at a nearby but respectful distance. At a break in the conversation he drawls, laconically at the human woman tending the stables:
"Being bright and fiery, the lady, but her points are seeming sound. Perhaps we can be reviewing how best to treat customers who are trying to put money in your till?"
He nods respectfully at the genasi and stands behind her to the side, to be clear he is not trying to cut the line.
Sabetha(Monk2):DungeonMair's Rime/Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Barn(Paladin1):Nyx's ToA
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard3):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return
Samir and Malachi
The straw-chewing orc, Hanlin, has fully turned around to face the two passengers, leaning on crossed arms on the back of his seat. "We're headin' back ta our range. Got our goats and sheep ta look after. Were just in Tibben fer a spot a business. And a spot is about all it ended up bein'," he says, waving a hand at the back of the wagon where Samir and Malachi sit amidst unsold wares. Looking around, Malachi sees stuffed sacks of wool, and clay jugs of what he assumes to be milk. In one corner is also a stack of thick wool lined cloaks.
"I still say it's fools business, that. Headin' up the pass, and this late in the year?" Garret lightly knocks Hanlin in the arm with his hook. "Fools' business it may be, but it's also his business, not ours," he chides. Hanlin shrugs and then notices Malachi's eyes on the cloaks.
"Ah we did manage ta' get those put together by a friend of ours usin' our wool, so the trip wasn't a complete waste." He gets a pensive look on his face, and then turns to Garret. No words pass between them, but they seem to have a quick exchange with their eyebrows before Garret nods and turns back to the road. Hanlin looks to Samir and says "Now listen here. Goin' up those mountains in what ye've got, ye'll freeze ta ice in a single night, no two ways about it. But we've got some extra cloaks there, an' the wool ta make more. What we don't have much of is coin. We'd be more'n happy to part with one or two in exchange for two-"
"Three," Garret interrupts with a smile.
"-I mean three gold pieces each. With a cloak like this, ya might not even lose any fingers to the cold! What do ya say?" Hanlin asks with a grin, holding his hand to out Samir for a shake and wiggling all of his fingers for emphasis on his last point.
Joren and Ashley
The girl watches Joren intently, still wide eyed as he plays with the coin. When he makes his face at the boys, she lets out a small giggle which she quickly covers with her hand. With the coin pressed into her other hand she smiles, still seeming a bit dazed by the whole interaction with the peculiar man, before running off looking down at her prize clutched now in both hands.
Joren chimes into the conversation by the stables just as the lady opens her mouth to counter Ashley's points. She sets her jaw and taps her toe as she listens. When he's finished, she looks him up and down, taking in the fine armour and weaponry. She sighs, her pride clearly a little hurt, but when she speaks again her tone has softened a bit.
"Looks like you're a long way from home too, soldier. Listen," she turns back to Ashley, but addresses her next words to both of the travelers. "I'm not saying I don't want to help. I just can't. If I had an extra horse of me own kickin' about... well I'd have sold it long ago. Got no need for two horses meself. But, if I hadn't sold it yet, I'd offer it up to you. But as I-"
She trails off as the most bearded half-elf either Joren or Ashley have ever seen walks up and places a friendly hand on the stable-woman's shoulder. "Hey, it's alright Lisa. I think I might be able to help." He turns to Ashley. "You looking to head up through Liezse Valley? And how about you, friend?" he says, looking at Joren. He starts unhitching two horses as he talks "I tell you what, my name's Daerwul, I've my steed here, and a packhorse beside. I was looking to buy some goat milk off the Chomers, but it seems I've just missed them. I'm going to try and catch up to them before they get too far away from town, and until I do, my beast of burden here's got no burden. If the two of you don't mind sharing a horse for a bit, you could come along. Otherwise," he gestures to Joren, "You could ride with me and we let the lady have her own. Once we catch up, heck, you might even be able to talk Hanlin and Garret into giving you a ride further."
He holds out the reins in offer. "In exchange, alls I ask is a coin and a story. Something from a faraway land that I can tell my kids when I get home late tonight." He winks cheerily.
Joren looks at Daerwul and the fire genasi circumspectly, not wanting to presume. "Joren Kryn," he drawls in a liquid, far eastern accent by way of introduction and gives a nod and a polite but crooked grin towards both her, Daerwul and Lisa. Being new to the area and not familiar with customs and idioms, he would try to determine by body language and other cues whether the offer is made in good faith and sincerity, though he is almost certain that it is and will go along regardless.
Insight check: 17
"Speaking for the lady, I cannot do, particularly as I am just now meeting her, and with both of you the same. Thanking you for your offer Daerwul, I would be happy to accompany you as well as her, as I am indeed heading that direction. To Talmouth eventually if my luck is holding. But I am thinking the lady should be having her own horse."
"As for me, I can even be walking for part of the way as I am having a few... tricks to be catching up," Joren allows mysteriously, "and your horse's doubtful look in my direction is telling me that they will not enjoy supporting the weight of both me and my chain mail along with you. But a bit of coin, within reason, I am having, and a story too, though perhaps not one as enthralling as the lady may tell. All I would be asking further in exchange is advice on these mountains we are to be crossing soon. Would you be recommending buying any equipment before we are departing? Warmer clothing perhaps?"
As stated, Joren would defer on story-telling to the fire genasi if she would like to tell one first. If not, or if time permits afterwards, he would consider a moment, thinking that the story must be suitable for children, then tell a both funny and melancholy tale. One of a somewhat bumbling, but honorable paladin who seemed to succeed almost by accident at making numerous, widely-varied friends and saving his city, all while losing the favor of his stern and comically pompous religious elders. Ultimately, the paladin is unjustly exiled, which is implied at the end to be a blessing in truth as much as a punishment, though the paladin does not yet realize it (but his newfound friends and listeners to the story do).
(He would of course also attempt to determine what kind of coin Daerwul is asking for).
Sabetha(Monk2):DungeonMair's Rime/Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Barn(Paladin1):Nyx's ToA
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard3):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return
Samir eyes the orc's outstretched hand, a number of thoughts going through his mind. Firstly, that he had made a hefty mistake in overlooking the cold weather gear he would need. Too many distracting things had gotten in the way of that thought. Secondly, was the idea of paying three gold coins for one of those cloaks, and how disappointed his parents would be for not working to get a better deal. But the truth was, the two were being extremely helpful to him on this trip already. And besides, perhaps a bit of generosity in the matter could pay off in the future.
"Three gold coins?" Samir had to push a bit to get his voice to not squeak on the words, pausing to clear his throat. "Three coins seems an absolute steal for your wonderful merchandise, my friend. Your help is greatly appreciated."
Wearing what he felt was his best convincing, professional smile, Samir shook the other man's hand for a moment before digging out a trio of gold pieces, their markings clearly placing them as minted in Madurst.
Joren and Ashley
Madurst, Tibben, and the farmlands between have been a bit of a culture shock for Joren. People are quick to notice one looking so ready for war as he, but that he had anticipated. What's been throwing Joren off is the body language. The rural folk out here seem to have an openness and forwardness to their body language that is quite different from Joren's homeland in the Khirian Dynasty, and at first Joren had thought it was aggression or disrespect. They stand closer when talking, are free and relaxed in their movements, and are quick to communicate with touch. A pat on the back, a nudge on the arm, a prod in the chest... Joren chalks it up to the difference between a relatively peaceful agrarian society and one that has been in a military stalemate for centuries. There, personal space among adults is generally respected as sacred.
Nevertheless, Joren still finds it difficult at times to get a read on these people. He's not sure what deceptive or 'unusual' behaviour would look like. But Daerwul's bearded smile seems to touch his sharp eyes, and perhaps that is good enough.
"The mountains?" Daerwul looks at Ashley. "And you too?"
"That's what she says," Lisa confirms.
Daerwul scratches the back of his neck. "Gosh, well my best advice on crossing them would be 'don't,' but if the two of you are stubborn enough to hold your own against Lisa here, I'll offer you my second best advice." He leads the horses out of the stable and onto the road, handing the reins for one over to Ashley. "Stay warm and stay dry. Once you let either the cold or the damp in, it's not leaving you until you leave the mountains. And if you get caught in a snow storm, turn back or forge ahead, all or nothing. You do not want to overnight in the Shield. The trip is doable, but you have to want it. I went a few times when I was younger, but that was a long time ago. Now, I lack the want. At any rate, if we want to catch up, we should be hitting the road." He swings up onto the back of one horse.
The man’s eyes open wide at Samir’s response and he slides over to the other side of the wagon to sit next to the half-orc. “A business trip, and over the mountains, how exciting. I am a bit of a businessman myself, mostly buying and selling, or trading.” He sticks out his hand “Call me Mal. I am always seeking new ventures, what kind of business are you in?”
Mal arches an eyebrow as Samir digs out the three gold pieces to pay for the cloak, noticing the Madust marks. “A wise investment. Most tend to avoid the passes, they are difficult to travel in the best of circumstances, let alone this late in the year. Why cross at all, is there no business for you farther up the valley?”
Samir and Malachi
Hills pass by on either side of the wagon, dotted by small copses of trees. The occasional mountain goat can be seen in the areas where the hills give way to steeper slopes rising up to the grey sky above.
"Nice to meet you, Mal," Garret calls back. "For a trader, ya sure do travel light. But then, that's none of our business." At Mal's comment about the valley, Hanlin interjects, "Not much north of the valley but for the Veil, and that's even worse'n the Shield Pass. And that's before you add the Khorinian goliaths on the other side."
Hanlin shows the coins to Garret who grunts in appreciation. "Looks like today weren't a waste after all," Garret chuckles. "I like you, Samir. I tell ya what, root 'round back there and ya should be able to find me spare boots. They might be a bit bi-"
He is cut off abruptly by a piercing howl. Hanlin snaps to a standing position and scans the hills. "Damn! Wolves coming. Must smell the sheep on us!"
Garret snaps the reins and shouts "Hyah," spurring the horses to break into a run. Looking around, Samir and Malachi can see a spread out pack of wolves descending upon the wagon from the hills to the left. The horses manage to get past the wolves and seem to be outpacing them, but just barely. The wolves are following along behind, and with the heavy load of the wagon, it may only be a matter of time before the horses begin to tire and slow.
Ashley relaxes a bit when the lady at the stables changes her tone when addressing her. Her hair is no longer flaming, more of an ember glow. She smiles at the newcomer in thanks. Odd, she thinks, first time a stranger here has actually been helpful. She looks at him again, and it dawns on her, ah, it’s because he is a stranger as well. At least things make sense.
As she is contemplating her situation her spirits fall as she realizes she has a long ways to go to get to Shield’s Pass, and apparently without a horse. Or even a donkey. She is about to respond to the lady and a very bearded half-elf interjects kindly, so she holds her tongue.
After hearing his proposal, she first pauses to introduce herself, “Thank you for your kind words and offer. My name is Ashley Moon, but you can call me Ash, or Ashley, whatever you prefer.” When Joren responds with his offer to let her have her own horse on their shared journey, she pipes up, “Well, aren’t you a gentleman! Can’t say I have run into many of those!” and she looks to both of you, “And here I am, looking at two of them! What a day, what a lucky day!” She then addresses Lisa, “See, I’ll be fine over the Shield Pass, it’s my lucky day!”
As they start heading out and getting saddled up, she inquires, “What coin would you like, good sir? And can I say, goat milk?! That sounds exquisite! Any way for me to try some before we part ways? Oh, I’d just love to, it sounds so creamy!” Once they get on their way, she thinks a bit and starts…
She tells them the story of how she lives in the Smoking Sands desert and how the land there is so arid and dry, and how she yearns to see the ocean and of different lands than of her own. She describes her home area as best she can as she can tell neither of her companions have been anywhere near it. She tells them a bit on how she became a sorcerer, though she is new at it and is learning as she goes, “When the power from the Gods came upon me, well, I did burst into flames! Completely! Every stitch of clothing was ash by the time the flames extinguished. It was a bit embarrassing, good thing I was alone!” she ends her story on how sorcery magic was shunned a bit by her tribe and how she has decided to try things out as an adventurer!
She ends on a high note, and a smile, but you can see the tinge of sadness in her eyes about leaving home.
Ashley and Joren
As Ashley, Joren, and Daerwul ride forth, talking and exchanging stories, Joren goes back and forth between riding on Daerwul's horse and walking along behind to give it a break from his weight. The first time Daerwul looks back to make sure Joren isn't falling too far behind, he notes the half-dwarf is a ways back.
Blink.
Suddenly Daerwul thinks he must be seeing double.
Blink.
Now Joren is right behind the horse, keeping up just fine.
(Joren)
Make a Con check DC 10 with advantage for splitting your time between walking and riding.
The half-elf rubs his eyes and turns forward again, feeling a little dizzy. "Well I don't know about any of that," he mumbles to himself. "The kids'll never believe this."
@DM:
Con check (wish it was a save, not a check, ouch!): 4
Edited to add: you gave me advantage for taking shifts riding and echo-walking, so the 2nd roll is in our private chat. Got a 15.
Sabetha(Monk2):DungeonMair's Rime/Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Barn(Paladin1):Nyx's ToA
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard3):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return
OOC: Second roll with advantage rolled in private chat with DM, got a 15. No clue why first roll says I manipulated it, but if so, I manipulated it to get a 6! Thankfully I had advantage so the 15 counts...
While he is riding and listening to Ashley's story, Joren finds himself both fascinated by the sorcerer's homeland and what's more, deeply sympathizes with her choice at the end of it.
Shunned by your tribe for simply being what you are - so you set out to be an adventurer. Good on you lass!
He stifles a deep chuckle, trying and mostly succeeding in preventing his imagination from jumping to the obvious mental image when the fiery lady speaks of burning her own clothes off. At least not as embarrassing as the drill early on when I found myself switching spots inadvertently with my echo while it was hovering over a latrine pit... he considers telling that story instead of the one he had chosen but decides against it for now.
Joren then takes a shift walking, with the odd falling behind, then duplicate image, then back up with the horses effect.
When he mounts again, he drawls out his story of the unwittingly heroic paladin (above). "Is not so much a true personal story as the lady's tale was seeming, yes? Common folk yarn, mine, as I am remembering. But connecting back to real life at least a little, as all the best stories are," adds Joren with a lopsided grin.
Sabetha(Monk2):DungeonMair's Rime/Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Barn(Paladin1):Nyx's ToA
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard3):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return
Samir seems to brighten at Malachi's declaration of being a businessman himself. Perhaps this was a chance to make a connection to help out mother and father? Alas, before he is able to continue the conversation, a frightful howl carries over them, causing instant alarm in his two hosts. He rises up to his knees to better peer over the edge, even as the wagon picks up speed. He staggers for a moment, but steadies himself with one hand on the rough wooden surface. Samir's agile mind, while unused to dealing with wild animal attacks, can easily see that the horses cannot keep up such a pace and that the wolves show no signs of giving up. For a moment, his free hand drops to an elongated leather case that had previously been hidden between his body and the side of the cart, but he pauses as if considering.
"No, perhaps we can ward them away with another method."
The half-orc drops back into a sitting position with a thump, his hands moving in a flurry between pockets and his satchel. Suddenly there are delicate tools and small pieces of metal in his hands that click and clatter against one another as he deftly begins tinkering with them. But a moment later,he is twisting it all together with a decisive click. Samir scrambles to shove his tools back in his pocket, simultaneously pushing himself towards the back of the wagon, laying almost flat out. The small mass of odds and ends he has assembled begins to vibrate before various pieces within its cage-like shell begin spinning around.
"You may wish to cover your ears, I don't know how loud this will be!"
The whirring of tiny gears seems to reach a fever pitch, and suddenly an ear-splitting keening issues from the device, high and painful to listen to. It seems to warble up and down with the imperfection of the hasty assembly, but still retains its awfulness. With one hand outstretched and the other covering an ear, Samir grits his teeth and stares at the wolves, willing them to find the noise distasteful enough to simply give up.
(OOC. using Magical Tinkering to emit a nonverbal sound in hopes to scare off the wolves.)