The journey out of Baldur's Gate has been a relatively uneventful one so far, a fact most members of the caravan are grateful for. There are 6 wagons in the caravan, most of them belonging to traders. You were hired on to guard a different kind of wagon -- one filled with the belongings of those moving to new lands along the sword coast. The caravan is currently in the middle of the Greenfields, on the Uldoon Trail. You're just a few more days away from the next time major town, Greenest.
The weather is nearly perfect as you stop to let the horses rest around mid-afternoon. A clear blue sky rests above you, and the temperature combined with a gentle breeze keeps you cool even in full gear. While currently in some grassy rolling hills, you can see ahead of you that you'll soon be in a lightly wooded area.
Pim, the wagonmaster you report to on this journey, is spending the break resecuring some of the cargo on the wagon. The people(most of them families) whose belongings it carries are spread out along the side of the road, sitting on blankets or merely resting in the grass. The other wagons are spread out haphazardly along the road, their own guards and workers chatting with each other and eating some of their rations.
"So much green g-grass... it seems to go on forever, peaceful like nothing could ever disturb it..."
Xarian's wide hazel eyes hold a faraway look, as if the big man had never seen such an expanse of fields, rolling to the horizon unbroken by mountain or man-made structure. He mumbles to himself, just as he does when poring through his tattered old book, apparently attempting to magically mend tears in his worn breeches and cloak while clutching what seems to be a lodestone. After a week, if anything, his garments seem to have more holes than before.
Unmistakably baseborn from his common speech, Xari, as he would have introduced himself, nevertheless exhibits an uncommon racial blend even at first glance. Standing well-built at six and a half feet tall when he isn't slouching, his stature suggests giant-kin blood mixed in with his human heritage, while a slight delicacy to his features and mildly tapered ears hint at a touch of elven ancestry as well. A greatsword and maul hang crossed behind his shoulders snug against his pack, along with a brace of javelins, though he has yet to draw any of these weapons in anger, focused instead on his book.
Strangely, a small ash-dark owl often seems to perch atop a wagon near him, regarding Xari with eyes like moons. On occasion, he gazes back, young man and owl locked in an odd staring contest until the owl turns away and begins to preen herself while Xari looks around, rueful and embarrassed.
Never shirking his tasks as part of the caravan guard, Xari nevertheless remains mostly aloof, a reticence seemingly borne more out of shyness than unfriendliness, his voice soft and his movements hesitant. When he dons or doffs his worn scale mail armor, it is impossible to miss the extensive bruising and scarring across his body, as if he had suffered a severe and sustained beating not so many months ago.
At times, a slight stutter is evident in Xari's voice. "H-have any of you been to this ah..., part of the Sword Coast before? Up north in Amphail, small town, I'd heard travelers speak of Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate, great big wondrous cities, but I've never seen so much... so much green..."
At first Hadrian stands apart from the bustle, his gaze wandering over the grassy hills to where the trail disappears into the trees. He isn't brooding this time, just caught in a private reverie as a gentle breeze ruffles his dark hair. The genetics of the Bladesemmer family were quite obvious in him— the ink black hair, marble complexion, the aquiline nose, and steep eyebrows above their most distinctive trait, eyes of an uncanny violet hue.
Over the days of shared trail dust and campfires, Hadrian has shown himself to be a polite and helpful sort. Quick to offer a hand if someone struggles to setup a tent or that sort of thing. A touch of noblesse — his precise speech, the careful way he maintains his gear, and his dreadful habit of philosophizing contrasts with the practicalities of hired sword work. He could often be found writing in a slim leather journal when the caravan has settled in for the day. Those who've asked about it get a soft but noncommittal smile in response.
He removes one of his leather gloves and flexes his fingers, shaking out some of the stiffness built up in them. Reaching into his bag, he withdraws a slim journal and scribbles a few lines in neat, slanted script. The words are fragments of thoughts...Musings on the sky's clarity today, the peacefulness of the Greenfields. His mind was never entirely idle, and writing helped to settle it. A trick he learned from an old tutor of his. Unfortunately he couldn't find the words to write down at the moment. With an exhale he snaps the journal shut, returning it to his pack. He takes a moment to adjust his leather armor, then meanders back over to the wagon.
"This would be my first time this far south as well,"Hadrian comments, getting back within earshot just as the large man poses his question. He surveys the landscape again, then says with a raised brow. "I suppose they're called the Greenfields for a reason."
Kellan stands a short distance from the wagon, leaning lightly on the pommel of his longsword, its blade sheathed and slung at his hip. His gaze sweeps over the rolling fields with a mixture of quiet appreciation and weariness. At 5'11", he’s not the tallest among the caravan guards, but his chainmail gleams faintly in the afternoon light, and the wheat stalk emblem of Chauntea etched into his chestplate marks him as more than just a sellsword. His shoulder-length brown hair stirs gently in the breeze, framing a face that’s youthful but etched with the faint lines of someone who has seen loss beyond his years.
Kellan turns his head slightly as Xari speaks of the vastness of the Greenfields, his hazel eyes catching the sunlight for a brief moment, glimmering faintly with an otherworldly hue—a subtle reminder of his aasimar heritage. For the most part, Kellan keeps to himself during these journeys. He’s polite when spoken to, quick to lend a hand when needed, but his quiet moments are often spent in thought or prayer. Yet now, he offers a soft, thoughtful reply, his voice warm but slightly hesitant, with a faint trace of a country drawl.
“Green as far as the eye can see... it reminds me of home.” His voice grows quieter, almost wistful. “Or what home used to be.”He looks down for a moment, brushing his hand over the wheat stalk amulet hanging from his neck. “It’s peaceful here, though. Almost too peaceful. Makes me wonder how long it’ll last.”
He glances back toward the wagonmaster, Pim, briefly checking to see if there’s anything that needs doing before continuing. His movements are deliberate, as if he’s always guarding against the weight of his armor, his sword, or perhaps something heavier still.
As the large man’s question about the region hangs in the air, Kellan speaks again, his tone a bit more measured. “This is my first time on the Uldoon Trail. I’ve passed through Baldur’s Gate, lived most of my life near Elturel, but...I’ve never seen anything like this either. Makes you feel small in the grand scheme of things.”
For a moment, he seems ready to drift back into silence but catches himself and offers a faint smile, the effort almost shy. “But it’s a good place to stop, if only to let the horses rest. The way ahead looks quiet enough. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Farra stretches her arms above her head as she waltzes over to the others she’d come to know. Nothing in particular would mark her as a member of a religious order, her robes were packed away. Out here on the open road she preferred the practicality of simple traveler’s clothes underneath her armor.
Her facial features are all angles and high cheekbones as one would expect of an elf, but her ears were smaller and more rounded, marking her mixed heritage.
“I haven’t been here before either,”she remarks, stifling a yawn. The young woman hasn’t been as reserved as the others since the trip began, freely mingling with the other members of the caravan. “It’s pretty though, and nice to get away from the city. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”
As you talk amongst yourselves, you almost don't notice the small figure sidling up to your group: Andy, the young boy who's been traveling with his mother since Baldur's Gate. He's no longer shy around you, having spent many days of the journey peppering each of you with questions about your armor, your weapons, your spells, or tales of your "adventures" so far. Today, he's bouncing on the balls of his feet brown hair falling into his face as he tilts his head up to address the adults.
"Hey!" he pipes up. "D'you think we'll see any dragons? Or werewolves? Or vampires!?" Before you can really even begin to respond, he's goes on without missing a beat. "I know everyone says its probably just bandits out here. But I heard another one of the guards say you can find kobold caves too! Or an old ruin if you look hard enough."
Behind him, you see his mother (Mary Bainard) hovering at a polite distance, hovering an apologetic shrug as if it say "sorry, he's wound up again." From what you've gathered so far from the time you've spent around them, they're traveling in search of the woman's brother. Her husband was recently taken by an illness that swept through Baldur's Gate, and she didn't have the money to stay there. The last she'd heard, her brother was traveling to Greenest, so that's where they were heading.
Andy tugs at the nearest cloak, "hey...If we do find a kobold cave or an ancient ruin, can I come with?! I promise I won't get in the way, I just want to see stuff...Like real adventurers do." He's been talking like this for days now. Dreaming of treasure hunts and grand battles, mimicking sword drills with a stick whenever he thinks no one is watching. You've come to find his enthusiasm as much a part of the caravan as the creaking of wagon wheels. He waits for your answer now, eyes darting from face to face.
Kellan’s gaze softens as he looks down at Andy, the boy’s eager grin and bouncing energy stirring a faint ache in his chest. For a moment, he sees another face there—one framed by lighter, sun-kissed curls, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Lyla had always been the one with the wild dreams of treasure hunts and adventures, tugging on his sleeve and insisting they explore the woods near their farm like real heroes. He kneels to meet Andy’s gaze, resting one hand lightly on the hilt of his longsword.
“You’ve got a brave heart, Andy,”Kellan says softly, his voice carrying a warmth that tempers his usual reserved tone. “And a good imagination too. But real adventuring...it’s not always like the stories. It’s dangerous out here, even in places that seem peaceful. You’ve got to keep your wits about you and stick close to your mom. That’s how you help keep her safe, yeah?”
Xari startles and nearly drops the book he is poring over as the Andy pipes up. The gray owl, ever present nearby, flaps her wings once in slight surprise.
The little guy reminds me a little of myself at that age, though that is probably unfair to him. He is no gutter rat as I was. Still am, deep down.
When the big man does answer, he too drops to a knee to get on Andy's level. His voice is deeper than the boy's, but carries the same guileless candor.
"Thinking Kellan or the others might know more about adventuring than I do, to be honest. Pretty sure if I'd faced anything like a dragon or werewolf or vampire as you're saying, lad, then I wouldn't be here alive, talking to you right now. One kobold alone might be a different story, but I can't say as I've ever heard of anyone battling a single kobold. An old adventurer back in Amphail had a tale of kobolds in the hills who used all kinds of traps in their caves to almost defeat intruders entirely, even before the little dragon-kin would then attack all together. But at the end of the day..."
Xarian's voice grows distant, his eyes focused in the middle distance. "... at the end of the day, sometimes the worst monsters are the people. My ma wanted to take care of me like yours does, but she couldn't really do it as well as yours is doing. You take care of her in return, like Kellan says."
The young boy makes a face at the gentle rebuke. He seems to understand, but he doesn't like hearing it. "Fine. I'll stay and protect mom. But you still have to share the loot with me if you find any!" With that Andy runs back over to his mom. Mary gives the both of you a thankful smile before leading her son back over to the wagon.
From the front of the train you hear the call to get ready to move out again. Having finished his inspection of the wagon, Pim briefly drops by your group. "Should be the last break of the day, I imagine we'll go until nightfall from here." He nods at the woods up ahead. "I've heard that them trees are where bandits like to make their move. So keep on your toes eh?"
Hadrian watches with a raised brow as the other two men talk sense into the adventurous young boy. The nobleman keeps his mouth shut, as his own plan had been to start running sword drills with the boy. If he wanted to be an adventurer, best to make him prepared no? They were right though, it wasn't really like the stories. In the myths and legends, the hero is taught how to fight by some mystical hermit who sets his pupils to strange tasks, secret lessons in disguise. It was not so for him. Not under his cousin's tutelage. Hadrian's education was nothing but unending drills under the baking sun. No eccentric lessons, only long and tedious practice until the motions of swordplay were as natural as breathing.
His nostalgia is interrupted by a rising anxiety. Flashes of the vision he'd experienced in the ruins beneath the High Forest. Fire. Ice. Death. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to teach the kid a thing or two after all.
The arrival of Pim shakes him from the thoughts, and he responds with a polite half bow. "Of course, we'll be ready for anything."
When they got on the road, he keeps an eye out for bandits, and he also looks for a good stick. Something that with a little crude daggerwork could be turned into a half decent practice sword for a small boy.
Xarian blinks, surprised that the boy had relented so quickly. His street urchin friends back in Amphail had been much more persistent, though usually at thieving, for which Xarian had been too big and noticeable, so his job had been to provide the distraction...
That was before I agreed to become a town guard at Orlan's urging after he'd taught me to read and write. Supposedly so I could learn to be the boot rather than always being the rear end getting kicked... so which am I know, I wonder? The boot or the rear end?
Xari looks around as if the answer is somewhere around him, meeting the owls gaze, but she merely gazes back unblinking, giving no response.
Odds are the lad will be hell bent on tailing us into whatever trouble we get into anyway. And speaking of trouble...
The big man nods hastily in agreement with Hadrian as Pim warns of possible bandits beyond the tree-line. As the others scan the woodlands, Xari glances briefly at his tattered book, remembering one of the incantations therein for once, mumbling and gesturing awkwardly with one hand...
(Xarian casts Blade Ward on himself. Cantrip, 1 Action, verbal and somatic, all attacks against him subtract 1d4 while he maintains concentration up to a minute. He will attempt to continue doing so while the caravan moves into the "bandit zone" but has not yet been attacked.)
Kellan watches Andy retreat to his mother, the boy’s determined face making him sigh softly. He remains kneeling for a moment longer, his hand brushing over the wheat stalk amulet at his neck. Lyla had worn that same expression whenever she wanted something. Stubborn, hopeful, and absolutely sure the world would bend to her will. The memory stirs a faint smile before his gaze shifts to Mary Bainard, who offers a grateful nod in return.
As Pim approaches, Kellan stands and adjusts his sword belt, his expression growing serious. He glances at Hadrian, noting the nobleman’s calm confidence, then over to Xarian, whose quiet muttering suggests he’s preparing himself in his own way. Kellan nods to each of them, appreciating the varied strengths they bring to the group. Turning back to Pim, Kellan adds, “We’ll keep watch. If they’re out there, they won’t catch us off guard.” His voice carries a calm certainty, the kind that comes from conviction rather than bravado.
As the caravan begins to stir and prepare to move on, Kellan takes up a position slightly ahead of the wagon he’s guarding, scanning the treeline with sharp, glowing hazel eyes. Beneath his calm exterior, there’s a growing tension—a readiness for whatever danger might come. For all the peace these fields seem to promise, Kellan knows too well how quickly it can be shattered. And this time, he’s ready.
Pim grins, clapping Hadrian on the shoulder. "Good lads. And lass." He says, turning around to get back to the wagon. In short time, the horses are moving again, pulling the loaded wagons along the road once more. The breeze disappears as the woods get thicker, and the trail begins to wind back and forth like a lazy 'S', making it difficult to see more than 60 feet down the road at any given time. It's fairly quiet, save for the creaking of wagon wheels and the incantations repeated by Xarian every minute or so.
Hadrian:Very shortly you find a damn perfect stick near the side of the road. It already has a crude v-shape "crossguard" growing out of it, and will require very little work to finish shaping. It's as if nature crafted the thing specifically to look like a real weapon. As you switch your focus to keeping an eye out for danger, a stray beam of sunlight breaking through the treetops reflects off something metallic about 30 feet off the road, catching your attention.
Kellan: You keep your eyes on the treeline, watching for the slightest bit of movement. Nothing seems to be lurking in the trees however.
Continuing with his periodic incantations for Blade Ward, Xari tucks his book away apprehensively as the caravan continues along its winding way. While he sees his companions scanning the tree-line and the path ahead, he notices the owl rotate its head as owls do, looking backward.
The big man stares at the bird for a moment, then follows her gaze. Figuring the others have the foreground and sides of the road covered, Xari makes his way further back along the wagon train to serve as rear guard, scanning for threats from behind.
Xarian'sPerception to watch for threats at the back of the caravan: 12 (Passive: 13)
Quietly, Hadrian taps each of his fellow guards on the shoulder, pointing out the glint he saw off the road. Could it just be an old woodaxe left out here? Possibly. Could it be a bandit laying in wait? Also possible.
He moves off the road, creeping closer through the woods to get a better look.
Kellan nods and follows a few paces behind Hadrian, his shield gripped tightly in one hand and his wheat stalk amulet clasped in the other. As they creep closer, Kellan positions himself slightly to Hadrian’s side, shield raised and his other hand hovering near the hilt of his longsword, silent and watchful, prepared to act.
Without a word Farra quietly takes an arrow from her quiver, letting it rest on the bowstring as she falls in behind the other two. To her this seemed an odd time of day to attempt an ambush. But who was she to judge? If bandits were so smart they wouldn't be bandits.
The moment you begin to stop off the road, a small yellow-skinned humanoid creature pops up out of the brush, screaming something like a curse in goblinoid as it turns and begins to run deeper into the woods. Its dressed in leather armor, and a scimitar swinging wildly in its hand as it runs seems to have been responsible for the glint you saw.
Environment: The trees are moderately spaced in this area of the woods. The goblin is currently protected by Half-Cover(+2 AC and DEX saving throws)
Its ~ 30 feet away when it pops out. If you intend to give chase or take action against it, roll initiative first.
Alert Feat Initiative Swap: Xarian will swap Initiative rolls with whoever gets the lowest Initiative out of Kellan, Hadrian and Farra (or at least with whoever is willing), since they are closer to the goblin (Xarian being at the back), so one of them gets the Initiative of 20 and Xarian gets whatever the low score is.
(OOC: Edited to add - so Xarian will take Kellan's 9 for Initiative, and Kellan gets Xarian's20.)
Xari notices the goblin immediately and whistles to alert Kellan. He then turns to mumble at the civilians in the caravan to take cover, considering there might be other goblins with bows. He gazes at Ash, which is what he has named the owl, as if trying to cajole her to fly up and scout the woods in the direction the goblin is running, but the bird just stares back at him as if he is daft.
(Xarian is still concentrating on Blade Ward - perhaps on average, there would be 5 rounds left out of 10? Subtract 1d4 from attack rolls against.)
The journey out of Baldur's Gate has been a relatively uneventful one so far, a fact most members of the caravan are grateful for. There are 6 wagons in the caravan, most of them belonging to traders. You were hired on to guard a different kind of wagon -- one filled with the belongings of those moving to new lands along the sword coast. The caravan is currently in the middle of the Greenfields, on the Uldoon Trail. You're just a few more days away from the next time major town, Greenest.
The weather is nearly perfect as you stop to let the horses rest around mid-afternoon. A clear blue sky rests above you, and the temperature combined with a gentle breeze keeps you cool even in full gear. While currently in some grassy rolling hills, you can see ahead of you that you'll soon be in a lightly wooded area.
Pim, the wagonmaster you report to on this journey, is spending the break resecuring some of the cargo on the wagon. The people(most of them families) whose belongings it carries are spread out along the side of the road, sitting on blankets or merely resting in the grass. The other wagons are spread out haphazardly along the road, their own guards and workers chatting with each other and eating some of their rations.
How are you spending this break?
~~ Go ahead and introduce your characters here!
"So much green g-grass... it seems to go on forever, peaceful like nothing could ever disturb it..."
Xarian's wide hazel eyes hold a faraway look, as if the big man had never seen such an expanse of fields, rolling to the horizon unbroken by mountain or man-made structure. He mumbles to himself, just as he does when poring through his tattered old book, apparently attempting to magically mend tears in his worn breeches and cloak while clutching what seems to be a lodestone. After a week, if anything, his garments seem to have more holes than before.
Unmistakably baseborn from his common speech, Xari, as he would have introduced himself, nevertheless exhibits an uncommon racial blend even at first glance. Standing well-built at six and a half feet tall when he isn't slouching, his stature suggests giant-kin blood mixed in with his human heritage, while a slight delicacy to his features and mildly tapered ears hint at a touch of elven ancestry as well. A greatsword and maul hang crossed behind his shoulders snug against his pack, along with a brace of javelins, though he has yet to draw any of these weapons in anger, focused instead on his book.
Strangely, a small ash-dark owl often seems to perch atop a wagon near him, regarding Xari with eyes like moons. On occasion, he gazes back, young man and owl locked in an odd staring contest until the owl turns away and begins to preen herself while Xari looks around, rueful and embarrassed.
Never shirking his tasks as part of the caravan guard, Xari nevertheless remains mostly aloof, a reticence seemingly borne more out of shyness than unfriendliness, his voice soft and his movements hesitant. When he dons or doffs his worn scale mail armor, it is impossible to miss the extensive bruising and scarring across his body, as if he had suffered a severe and sustained beating not so many months ago.
At times, a slight stutter is evident in Xari's voice. "H-have any of you been to this ah..., part of the Sword Coast before? Up north in Amphail, small town, I'd heard travelers speak of Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate, great big wondrous cities, but I've never seen so much... so much green..."
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
At first Hadrian stands apart from the bustle, his gaze wandering over the grassy hills to where the trail disappears into the trees. He isn't brooding this time, just caught in a private reverie as a gentle breeze ruffles his dark hair. The genetics of the Bladesemmer family were quite obvious in him— the ink black hair, marble complexion, the aquiline nose, and steep eyebrows above their most distinctive trait, eyes of an uncanny violet hue.
Over the days of shared trail dust and campfires, Hadrian has shown himself to be a polite and helpful sort. Quick to offer a hand if someone struggles to setup a tent or that sort of thing. A touch of noblesse — his precise speech, the careful way he maintains his gear, and his dreadful habit of philosophizing contrasts with the practicalities of hired sword work. He could often be found writing in a slim leather journal when the caravan has settled in for the day. Those who've asked about it get a soft but noncommittal smile in response.
He removes one of his leather gloves and flexes his fingers, shaking out some of the stiffness built up in them. Reaching into his bag, he withdraws a slim journal and scribbles a few lines in neat, slanted script. The words are fragments of thoughts...Musings on the sky's clarity today, the peacefulness of the Greenfields. His mind was never entirely idle, and writing helped to settle it. A trick he learned from an old tutor of his. Unfortunately he couldn't find the words to write down at the moment. With an exhale he snaps the journal shut, returning it to his pack. He takes a moment to adjust his leather armor, then meanders back over to the wagon.
"This would be my first time this far south as well," Hadrian comments, getting back within earshot just as the large man poses his question. He surveys the landscape again, then says with a raised brow. "I suppose they're called the Greenfields for a reason."
Kellan stands a short distance from the wagon, leaning lightly on the pommel of his longsword, its blade sheathed and slung at his hip. His gaze sweeps over the rolling fields with a mixture of quiet appreciation and weariness. At 5'11", he’s not the tallest among the caravan guards, but his chainmail gleams faintly in the afternoon light, and the wheat stalk emblem of Chauntea etched into his chestplate marks him as more than just a sellsword. His shoulder-length brown hair stirs gently in the breeze, framing a face that’s youthful but etched with the faint lines of someone who has seen loss beyond his years.
Kellan turns his head slightly as Xari speaks of the vastness of the Greenfields, his hazel eyes catching the sunlight for a brief moment, glimmering faintly with an otherworldly hue—a subtle reminder of his aasimar heritage. For the most part, Kellan keeps to himself during these journeys. He’s polite when spoken to, quick to lend a hand when needed, but his quiet moments are often spent in thought or prayer. Yet now, he offers a soft, thoughtful reply, his voice warm but slightly hesitant, with a faint trace of a country drawl.
“Green as far as the eye can see... it reminds me of home.” His voice grows quieter, almost wistful. “Or what home used to be.” He looks down for a moment, brushing his hand over the wheat stalk amulet hanging from his neck. “It’s peaceful here, though. Almost too peaceful. Makes me wonder how long it’ll last.”
He glances back toward the wagonmaster, Pim, briefly checking to see if there’s anything that needs doing before continuing. His movements are deliberate, as if he’s always guarding against the weight of his armor, his sword, or perhaps something heavier still.
As the large man’s question about the region hangs in the air, Kellan speaks again, his tone a bit more measured. “This is my first time on the Uldoon Trail. I’ve passed through Baldur’s Gate, lived most of my life near Elturel, but...I’ve never seen anything like this either. Makes you feel small in the grand scheme of things.”
For a moment, he seems ready to drift back into silence but catches himself and offers a faint smile, the effort almost shy. “But it’s a good place to stop, if only to let the horses rest. The way ahead looks quiet enough. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Farra stretches her arms above her head as she waltzes over to the others she’d come to know. Nothing in particular would mark her as a member of a religious order, her robes were packed away. Out here on the open road she preferred the practicality of simple traveler’s clothes underneath her armor.
Her facial features are all angles and high cheekbones as one would expect of an elf, but her ears were smaller and more rounded, marking her mixed heritage.
“I haven’t been here before either,” she remarks, stifling a yawn. The young woman hasn’t been as reserved as the others since the trip began, freely mingling with the other members of the caravan. “It’s pretty though, and nice to get away from the city. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”
As you talk amongst yourselves, you almost don't notice the small figure sidling up to your group: Andy, the young boy who's been traveling with his mother since Baldur's Gate. He's no longer shy around you, having spent many days of the journey peppering each of you with questions about your armor, your weapons, your spells, or tales of your "adventures" so far. Today, he's bouncing on the balls of his feet brown hair falling into his face as he tilts his head up to address the adults.
"Hey!" he pipes up. "D'you think we'll see any dragons? Or werewolves? Or vampires!?" Before you can really even begin to respond, he's goes on without missing a beat. "I know everyone says its probably just bandits out here. But I heard another one of the guards say you can find kobold caves too! Or an old ruin if you look hard enough."
Behind him, you see his mother (Mary Bainard) hovering at a polite distance, hovering an apologetic shrug as if it say "sorry, he's wound up again." From what you've gathered so far from the time you've spent around them, they're traveling in search of the woman's brother. Her husband was recently taken by an illness that swept through Baldur's Gate, and she didn't have the money to stay there. The last she'd heard, her brother was traveling to Greenest, so that's where they were heading.
Andy tugs at the nearest cloak, "hey...If we do find a kobold cave or an ancient ruin, can I come with?! I promise I won't get in the way, I just want to see stuff...Like real adventurers do." He's been talking like this for days now. Dreaming of treasure hunts and grand battles, mimicking sword drills with a stick whenever he thinks no one is watching. You've come to find his enthusiasm as much a part of the caravan as the creaking of wagon wheels. He waits for your answer now, eyes darting from face to face.
Kellan’s gaze softens as he looks down at Andy, the boy’s eager grin and bouncing energy stirring a faint ache in his chest. For a moment, he sees another face there—one framed by lighter, sun-kissed curls, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Lyla had always been the one with the wild dreams of treasure hunts and adventures, tugging on his sleeve and insisting they explore the woods near their farm like real heroes. He kneels to meet Andy’s gaze, resting one hand lightly on the hilt of his longsword.
“You’ve got a brave heart, Andy,” Kellan says softly, his voice carrying a warmth that tempers his usual reserved tone. “And a good imagination too. But real adventuring...it’s not always like the stories. It’s dangerous out here, even in places that seem peaceful. You’ve got to keep your wits about you and stick close to your mom. That’s how you help keep her safe, yeah?”
Persuasion: 9, or 19 with help
Xari startles and nearly drops the book he is poring over as the Andy pipes up. The gray owl, ever present nearby, flaps her wings once in slight surprise.
The little guy reminds me a little of myself at that age, though that is probably unfair to him. He is no gutter rat as I was. Still am, deep down.
When the big man does answer, he too drops to a knee to get on Andy's level. His voice is deeper than the boy's, but carries the same guileless candor.
"Thinking Kellan or the others might know more about adventuring than I do, to be honest. Pretty sure if I'd faced anything like a dragon or werewolf or vampire as you're saying, lad, then I wouldn't be here alive, talking to you right now. One kobold alone might be a different story, but I can't say as I've ever heard of anyone battling a single kobold. An old adventurer back in Amphail had a tale of kobolds in the hills who used all kinds of traps in their caves to almost defeat intruders entirely, even before the little dragon-kin would then attack all together. But at the end of the day..."
Xarian's voice grows distant, his eyes focused in the middle distance. "... at the end of the day, sometimes the worst monsters are the people. My ma wanted to take care of me like yours does, but she couldn't really do it as well as yours is doing. You take care of her in return, like Kellan says."
Better than I could for mine, I hope...
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
The young boy makes a face at the gentle rebuke. He seems to understand, but he doesn't like hearing it. "Fine. I'll stay and protect mom. But you still have to share the loot with me if you find any!" With that Andy runs back over to his mom. Mary gives the both of you a thankful smile before leading her son back over to the wagon.
From the front of the train you hear the call to get ready to move out again. Having finished his inspection of the wagon, Pim briefly drops by your group. "Should be the last break of the day, I imagine we'll go until nightfall from here." He nods at the woods up ahead. "I've heard that them trees are where bandits like to make their move. So keep on your toes eh?"
Hadrian watches with a raised brow as the other two men talk sense into the adventurous young boy. The nobleman keeps his mouth shut, as his own plan had been to start running sword drills with the boy. If he wanted to be an adventurer, best to make him prepared no? They were right though, it wasn't really like the stories. In the myths and legends, the hero is taught how to fight by some mystical hermit who sets his pupils to strange tasks, secret lessons in disguise. It was not so for him. Not under his cousin's tutelage. Hadrian's education was nothing but unending drills under the baking sun. No eccentric lessons, only long and tedious practice until the motions of swordplay were as natural as breathing.
His nostalgia is interrupted by a rising anxiety. Flashes of the vision he'd experienced in the ruins beneath the High Forest. Fire. Ice. Death. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to teach the kid a thing or two after all.
The arrival of Pim shakes him from the thoughts, and he responds with a polite half bow. "Of course, we'll be ready for anything."
When they got on the road, he keeps an eye out for bandits, and he also looks for a good stick. Something that with a little crude daggerwork could be turned into a half decent practice sword for a small boy.
Perception: 22 (game log)
Xarian blinks, surprised that the boy had relented so quickly. His street urchin friends back in Amphail had been much more persistent, though usually at thieving, for which Xarian had been too big and noticeable, so his job had been to provide the distraction...
That was before I agreed to become a town guard at Orlan's urging after he'd taught me to read and write. Supposedly so I could learn to be the boot rather than always being the rear end getting kicked... so which am I know, I wonder? The boot or the rear end?
Xari looks around as if the answer is somewhere around him, meeting the owls gaze, but she merely gazes back unblinking, giving no response.
Odds are the lad will be hell bent on tailing us into whatever trouble we get into anyway. And speaking of trouble...
The big man nods hastily in agreement with Hadrian as Pim warns of possible bandits beyond the tree-line. As the others scan the woodlands, Xari glances briefly at his tattered book, remembering one of the incantations therein for once, mumbling and gesturing awkwardly with one hand...
(Xarian casts Blade Ward on himself. Cantrip, 1 Action, verbal and somatic, all attacks against him subtract 1d4 while he maintains concentration up to a minute. He will attempt to continue doing so while the caravan moves into the "bandit zone" but has not yet been attacked.)
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
Kellan watches Andy retreat to his mother, the boy’s determined face making him sigh softly. He remains kneeling for a moment longer, his hand brushing over the wheat stalk amulet at his neck. Lyla had worn that same expression whenever she wanted something. Stubborn, hopeful, and absolutely sure the world would bend to her will. The memory stirs a faint smile before his gaze shifts to Mary Bainard, who offers a grateful nod in return.
As Pim approaches, Kellan stands and adjusts his sword belt, his expression growing serious. He glances at Hadrian, noting the nobleman’s calm confidence, then over to Xarian, whose quiet muttering suggests he’s preparing himself in his own way. Kellan nods to each of them, appreciating the varied strengths they bring to the group. Turning back to Pim, Kellan adds, “We’ll keep watch. If they’re out there, they won’t catch us off guard.” His voice carries a calm certainty, the kind that comes from conviction rather than bravado.
As the caravan begins to stir and prepare to move on, Kellan takes up a position slightly ahead of the wagon he’s guarding, scanning the treeline with sharp, glowing hazel eyes. Beneath his calm exterior, there’s a growing tension—a readiness for whatever danger might come. For all the peace these fields seem to promise, Kellan knows too well how quickly it can be shattered. And this time, he’s ready.
Perception: 15
Pim grins, clapping Hadrian on the shoulder. "Good lads. And lass." He says, turning around to get back to the wagon. In short time, the horses are moving again, pulling the loaded wagons along the road once more. The breeze disappears as the woods get thicker, and the trail begins to wind back and forth like a lazy 'S', making it difficult to see more than 60 feet down the road at any given time. It's fairly quiet, save for the creaking of wagon wheels and the incantations repeated by Xarian every minute or so.
Hadrian: Very shortly you find a damn perfect stick near the side of the road. It already has a crude v-shape "crossguard" growing out of it, and will require very little work to finish shaping. It's as if nature crafted the thing specifically to look like a real weapon. As you switch your focus to keeping an eye out for danger, a stray beam of sunlight breaking through the treetops reflects off something metallic about 30 feet off the road, catching your attention.
Kellan: You keep your eyes on the treeline, watching for the slightest bit of movement. Nothing seems to be lurking in the trees however.
Continuing with his periodic incantations for Blade Ward, Xari tucks his book away apprehensively as the caravan continues along its winding way. While he sees his companions scanning the tree-line and the path ahead, he notices the owl rotate its head as owls do, looking backward.
The big man stares at the bird for a moment, then follows her gaze. Figuring the others have the foreground and sides of the road covered, Xari makes his way further back along the wagon train to serve as rear guard, scanning for threats from behind.
Xarian's Perception to watch for threats at the back of the caravan: 12 (Passive: 13)
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
Quietly, Hadrian taps each of his fellow guards on the shoulder, pointing out the glint he saw off the road. Could it just be an old woodaxe left out here? Possibly. Could it be a bandit laying in wait? Also possible.
He moves off the road, creeping closer through the woods to get a better look.
Kellan nods and follows a few paces behind Hadrian, his shield gripped tightly in one hand and his wheat stalk amulet clasped in the other. As they creep closer, Kellan positions himself slightly to Hadrian’s side, shield raised and his other hand hovering near the hilt of his longsword, silent and watchful, prepared to act.
Perception: 12
Without a word Farra quietly takes an arrow from her quiver, letting it rest on the bowstring as she falls in behind the other two. To her this seemed an odd time of day to attempt an ambush. But who was she to judge? If bandits were so smart they wouldn't be bandits.
The moment you begin to stop off the road, a small yellow-skinned humanoid creature pops up out of the brush, screaming something like a curse in goblinoid as it turns and begins to run deeper into the woods. Its dressed in leather armor, and a scimitar swinging wildly in its hand as it runs seems to have been responsible for the glint you saw.
Environment: The trees are moderately spaced in this area of the woods. The goblin is currently protected by Half-Cover(+2 AC and DEX saving throws)
Its ~ 30 feet away when it pops out. If you intend to give chase or take action against it, roll initiative first.
Kellan initiative: 9
"It's probably a scout. We can't let it get away!"
Xarian's Initiative: 20 (dirty)
Alert Feat Initiative Swap: Xarian will swap Initiative rolls with whoever gets the lowest Initiative out of Kellan, Hadrian and Farra (or at least with whoever is willing), since they are closer to the goblin (Xarian being at the back), so one of them gets the Initiative of 20 and Xarian gets whatever the low score is.
(OOC: Edited to add - so Xarian will take Kellan's 9 for Initiative, and Kellan gets Xarian's 20.)
Xari notices the goblin immediately and whistles to alert Kellan. He then turns to mumble at the civilians in the caravan to take cover, considering there might be other goblins with bows. He gazes at Ash, which is what he has named the owl, as if trying to cajole her to fly up and scout the woods in the direction the goblin is running, but the bird just stares back at him as if he is daft.
(Xarian is still concentrating on Blade Ward - perhaps on average, there would be 5 rounds left out of 10? Subtract 1d4 from attack rolls against.)
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court