Kalmar, truly, it sounds as though off in the distance to the west there is the sound of thunder from a clear blue sky. As you listen closely however, you notice it sounds more infrequent and...punctual than the rolling sounds of thunder you're more familiar with.
The seven of you share the meager rations amongst yourselves as you continue to discuss your current circumstances.
((Loving this, gonna let roleplay play out a bit before proceeding.))
An idea I'm having for future reference, put any speech not in common in a spoiler, labelled with the language you are speaking. Only open those spoilers if you speak the given language.
Scylla stands up to his full 6'2 height and stretches. He wears a loose fitting chain mail that seems to have seen better days and a backpack with five javelins and a shield strapped to its outside and a bedroll strapped underneath. A longsword sheathed in a ripped leather scabbard hangs on his left hip. Scylla smirks at Kelmar'sdraconic response and says in common, "what are those dreams, Kelmar? And yes, I too am troubled by those thunder strikes."
Kalmar smiles at Scylla Oh you know, moving to Chult, becoming the god-King of a tribe of warrior women who throw pickles at me as I sit atop my ziggurat in my golden robes and bask in the sun, the usual. He looks around with a quizzical look on his face. Surely I’m not the only one who has that dream.
That thunder, it sounds a bit... measured doesn’t it? Let’s look alive here, boys. Things could get interesting soon.
Scylla leans back into a hearty laugh as whiffs of smoke start pouring out of his nostrils. "It's good to see that in these times of trouble one can still have a sense of humor about things. Yes, that is a fine dream to have. Though instead of pickles maybe roasted chicken legs,"Scyllasays licking his lips on the thought of greasy chicken.
Scylla tries to listen closer to the sounds of thunder and nods at Kelmar's remark. "Should we scout over?" he says to everyone.
Scouting? I guess I could go for a walk, anyone else want to join me? I promise I don’t bite.
Nonna has, in fact, not showered for a noticeable amount of time. She smells almost exactly like fermented herring. She is slight for a half-orc with long braided black/brown hair and geometric patterns carved into her tusks. On her back she has a crude fishing trident and a longbow, and on her side a rather heavy looking longsword. On her wrist is a tattoo of a barrel with a crown on it and below that a sail with the black outline of a figure. Everything on her looks weather worn except a small, rather intricate, red and silver gilded journal.
In fact, I’m feeling kinda stiff, anyone want to race?
Dunglob, a towering Goliath dressed in modest fighting garb dragging a large club, is walking fairly slowly and deep in thought. Out of the blue, he shouts at what one would guess to be the top of his lungs, "HEY ROL, WHEN WE GET TO-" quickly realizing how he was speaking, speaks quietly to Rol "how far until dinner? We need to eat before danger" Dunglob, still in shock just weeks after becoming champion of his village and in doing so killing his best friend, has food on the top of his short priority list. On it right now, the only thing above food and the need to avenge his fallen Poofling, is the "danger", which he thinks is whatever made that thunderous sound from before.
"Can dragons eat Goliaths?" he muttered aloud in any/every one's direction
Letting out a hearty laugh at his large companion, Rolreplies, "Fear not large lad for I too have a hot meal on my mind". Fumbling for the word for hard tack as he is unaccustomed to such foods, Rolcontinues, "This tough biscuit looking circle bread seems to promote more thirst than it does remove hunger".
Trailing off Rolscratches his head and mumbles, "I find the lack of clouds....disturbing. Well, anything but rain I guess...."
Finishing your rations, the seven of you continue your camaraderie as you make your way further along the Uldoon Trail.ScyllaNonna and Kalmar scout ahead, whileOrochi, Gene, Rol, and Dunglob follow behind, the last two grumbling about their tummies. The sun's heat begins to relent as it makes it's slow descent towards the horizon off towards the Sword Coast, and the thunderous strikes, once irregular and intermittent, now sound every several minutes. It isn't until you're a couple miles out of Greenest, less than an hour away, that you smell it: a whiff of smoke, sweet yet acrid with the tinges of summer wheat and hair.
Kalmar, Nonna, and Scylla:
Was that a...scream, off in the distance just now?
Scyllakeeps close to Kelmar and tries to walk downwind of Nonna to avoid her stench. Upon hearing the scream he puts his right hand on the hilt of his longsword and clenches it. "I have to agree with you, Kelmar. Should we see who the screamer is? I can go back and tell the others if you and Nonna want to move ahead." While he speaks Scylla looks in the direction from where the scream came tries to see if he can perceive anything.
Catching a whiff and a earful of the seen ahead, Rolplaces his hand around his broach. "Well, this isn't quite the welcome I wanted. A pint of ale and a warm pie would have sufficed...." Rolmumbles aloud as he picks up his pace.
Kelmar makes a show of sighing dramatically but then quickly catches up with Nonna and runs toward the town. he calls back over his shoulder at Scylla. Don’t dally now, Dragonborn, we don’t wanna be down there with our asses in the wind while that lot back there finishes their crumpets.
Scylla, you're getting a very poor read on the scream you heard, but it doesn't take much at all to detect notes of distress and its direction: Greenest. You split off from Nonna and Kalmar, returning to urge hasty into your remaining allies.
Rol, Dunglob, Orochi, Gene, and Scylla:
Rol, Dunglob, Orochi, and Gene, you trail not far behind the three scouting party members as you wipe the very last of the crumbs from your hasty meal over an hour ago from your clothes and countenances; certainly not so far off as to miss the sight of Scylla turning and making his way back towards you as Kalmar and Nonna surge on ahead. It is near sundown, your journey almost complete. As you hurry onward to meet your paladin ally you begin to hear the source of concern: an occasional scream off in the distance toward Greenest. It isn't much further down the road when you see vague plumes of smoke begin to rise above the trees, the final curves and bends of the Uldoon Trail obscuring your vision of the town. Suddenly -- rrrRRCRACKKKKKK -- a concussion peels through the air as you hear another thunderous strike, this one dreadfully close and accompanied by a rumbling reverberation unlike anything you've heard from lightning before.
The two of you surge on ahead, weaving through the last stretch of the Uldoon Trail as the sun begins to set in front of you. Plumes of smoke have begun to arise from up through the trees, and you're just about to round a bend into view of the town when suddenly -- rrrRRCRACKKKKKK -- a concussion peels through the air as you hear another thunderous strike, this one dreadfully close and accompanied by a rumbling reverberation unlike anything you've heard from lightning before.
The five of you do your best to catch up with the two scouts in the last waning vestiges of sunlight. You see them pause, just before a bend in the trees, as the sounds of screams and the stench of blood, smoke, and sweat rise into the evening.
Nonna & Kalmar:
As you round a final bend you catch your first glimpse of a gristly scene, a mere hundred yards from you. The town of Greenest is under attack. From whom it is difficult to tell for certain at this distance in the last waning vestiges of sunlight, but screams, fluttering torchlight and roaming figures catch your eye, along with the stench of blood, smoke, and sweat.