For the past several days, you have traveled with a merchant caravan through the Western Heartlands. Though you probably didn't hire through an official mercenary group or company, you may have cut a personal deal with one of the merchants on the road as is often done these days. You've been traveling on a road that winds lazily across the rolling grasslands of the Greenfields. Sundown is fast approaching when you cross over the top of a rise, at last seeing the town of Greenest just a few short miles away. But something is wrong. Instead of the pleasant, welcoming town you expected, you are instead greeted by columns of black smoke rising from burning buildings, running groups of figures that are little more than dots, and the faint sound of screams that carries on the wind. 

The scene elicits a few shocked gasps from different members of the caravans, and soon a panicked discussion begins to take place between the merchant heads leading it. While they squabble, the town below burns and suffers under assault from forces yet unknown. 

How does your character react?

Apollo draws up to his full height as the chaotic scene unfolds before them. He stands at 6'1, though for much of the journey would have seemed shorter due to a persistent slouching of his shoulders. The black clothes he wears underneath his chainmail look like they might have been a noble's at one point. Now however, they are tattered and stained with dirt. His hair is a bright fiery orange, falling well below his shoulders. His skin is fair, with an almost golden hue to it. This, coupled with his eyes that shine a light gold mark him as someone clearly touched by the Upper Planes. 

With a wordless grunt, he drives his glaive into the ground and unties a thin black piece of cloth from his wrist. Gathering the mass of his hair, he begins to tie it up while the caravan leaders talk amongst themselves. Ever since...Well ever since his life had been turned upside down, he found decisions like this easier to make. Losing everything and being scorned by any he asked for help had made him wildly sympathetic to those in need. And it had bestowed upon him a recklessness that hadn't been present before.

When he finishes, he clears his throat. "I'm afraid I'll have to bring our partnership to an end merchant." He says, speaking to the man who had been planning to pay him for protecting his wagon. "I doubt you mean to go into that town now, but my own plans remain unchanged." 

He pulls his glaive from the ground, holding it in a comfortable and familiar grip. There were others traveling in the caravan who might join him. They seemed capable fighters, but he knew little of their moral compasses from their time together on the road. "Even if every person here were a trained warrior, I doubt we could stop an assault of this size...But with some help I guarantee we could make a difference for some of those poor townsfolk. Will anyone join me?"

The sight of the columns of the smoke rising into the sky gives Kiya a start. It was eerily reminiscent of some of the horrors her visions had brought her. With a shudder, the disturbing thought crosses her mind: is this how it begins?

Her eyes flick to the tall man with fiery hair. Slowly, she raises a gloved hand. "I'll go with you." She says, stopping short of admitting that running into something like this was the entire reason behind her journey in the first place. "Is anyone here familiar with the layout of the town?"

Zelyvia has been travelling with the caravan for days, running away from the big city. She is a tall tiefling with pale red skin and two large horns embellished with jewels. Her clothes are very elegant but also fit for traveling, the appearance is as important as the notes she always thought. Sitting on top of a cart, she practices a verse of the “Ballade of Lady Silverhand” with her lute when she realises that the caravan stopped. She witness the chaos with mixed emotion, fear but also excitement. “Could this be the adventure I was looking for ? The first step into becoming one of the heroes that I venerate? ”

She jumps on her feet and makes sure her leather armor is well in place, and strap her lute on her back.
“I can help you” she loudly claims. “I do not know this place, though. We could try to stay in covers as we approach”

Perception: is there a path that seems to be safer than others ?: 22 (Natural 20 on the first roll !!!)

The two makeshift lodestones rattle in Xarian's hands as he mumbles, staring down at a tattered book on his lap filled with strange symbols and runes.  Almost... almost... one of numerous rents in his equally tattered breeches begin to edge towards closure, nearly mending themselves before falling back to their previously bedraggled state.  The owl perched on Xarian's left shoulder, Bookmark, emits a tiny hoot that borders on either sympathy or derision.

Both the would-be hedge wizard and bird glance up at the commotion, and Xarian stands, tossing the book and lodestones into his pack and touching the haft of his maul at his back to reassure himself that it is still there.  Very tall, only a couple inches short of six and a half feet, and well built, the young guardsman almost certainly has giant blood in his ancestry, but elven blood as well, judging from the slight upward tapering of his ears.

A true mutt, Xarian also does not usually look his full height because, like Apollo, he tends to slouch.  Unlike Apollo, Xarian is still slouching.  Staring at the conflagration and chaos of the town and mumbling to himself, creases appearing on his angular face as he squints.  Oh no... those townsfolk, they...

Running an olive-skinned hand through his brown hair, he dons his helmet and tightens his battered scale mail before stepping down off the cart.  Xarian is startled at first to see the flame-haired man with the glaive speak up, only to be joined by the half-elven and tiefling women, striking in just how different the two females seemed from each other.  With a bit of effort, he recalls their names.

Apollo, Kiya and... Zelyvia, the one with the nice voice and the rhyming... right...  she seems like she might have spotted something.

"I've uh... never been this far south.  That town is Greenest, right?"  It's clear, Xarian will be no help establishing bearings, though his hazel eyes betray more intelligence than his stumbling speech would indicate.  "Is there a war or... or a rebellion?  You're right, sir, ah... Apollo.  Can't face an army, just the few of us, but we have to help the... well, we have to help.  But it would be good to know who's attacking and why they set all the fires.  Seems like most bandits would never want to burn a well-off place like this down - lot fewer caravans to rob if all that's left is ashes..."

He trails off lamely, looking surprised he's spoken so much.  Bookmark the owl blinks once slowly from his shoulder, her eyes dawning with distant reflected firelight.  Grimacing to himself, Xarian slowly pulls his maul from behind his shoulder, a strangely fatalistic look on his face.

Remember what happened the last time you did something stupid like this to stand up for people?  I guess some things never change.

"Right.  I'm in."

Trystane was walking beside the merchant that hired him when the suddenly saw smoke rising a the horizon. The merchant quickly sought advise from their leadership, leaving Trystane alone with his cart. The scene in its abstract form isn't totally unfamiliar to Trystane as his own birthplace was often subject to raids. He felt a kinship to the people in the town and wondered if they were at all prepared for any attack. His own people trained as militia since he was a kid and their situation had improved, but if the townspeople of Greenest only rely on a few guards, they might suffer the worst fate. Pillars of smoke are typically a sign of an advanced stage of the attack, with the attackers inside the town wreathing havoc. He should help, shouldn't he? Even the merchants are in danger, he thinks, if they are spotted out here in the open. The best for everyone would be to push back the attack on Greenest and then the merchants would have even good deals waiting for them as supplies will be needed, right? Pressuring the attackers will also draw attention away from the merchants will it not? He tries to convince himself that abandoning his spot would be best and in the merchant's interest. After a few more reflections, he advises the guard on the cart next to his, "Hold and watch my cart, will you? I owe you an ale if you don't let anyone near it. I will try and help in the town! With any luck we can still go there this night! " Then he starts running after the others with his hand-crossbow loaded. 

Having only joined this group recently, he notches an arrow readying his bow, he turns to the merchants "There will be people, needing supplies, but I suggest you hide your wagons, and yourselves, till this is over. I'm going to see what needs to be done." He follows the others but intentionally lags behind, looking for danger8Perception.   

Most of the merchant leaders seem too engrossed in their arguments to even notice your group gathering for the time being. The debate has turned into a full blown shouting match, as one of them - a man named Osborn Crutchley - loses his cool, screaming a string of profanities and curses at the others. You aren't able to make much of it with all of the commotion, but you do hear him slander them as cowards.

Zelyvia: Your caravan has approached the town from the northeast on the Uldoon Trail. From your vantage point, even with the pillars of smoke rising you can see where the town's regular entrances are. The road you're on now splits before reaching the town, with a path heading south and north into farmlands, and two others going into town. You can see a similar split on the other side of town, and a final path leading in through the southern farmlands. The roads themselves do not provide much cover, but you do see plenty of foliage and tree cover around the river running through the south side of the town.

Greenest

Osborn breaks free from the others merchants, eyes bulging with anger and a blotchy red mark forming on his neck. He hobbles over to the six of you, limping from a leg injury he sustained years ago. "Whatever these sorry sacks of cow shit have been paying you to guard their wagons, I'll triple it! Quadruple it!"

"My family. My wife, my kids are in that town visiting my sister-in-law. You help me find them and get them to safety and I'll make it worth your while!" There's desperation in his voice now, mixed with a fair bit of frustration. 

“Which part of town do they live in? Be precise. We’ll be faster without you!” Trystane replies while strapping on his shield. This way he’ll only have one shot but fighting between houses might favor sword and board, and anyone that’s in range for him to shot at, can just as well just run up to him. No, the shield would be more safe, he thinks.

Despite it all, a wry smile finds its way onto his face. It was nice to be surrounded by so many willing to lay their lives on the line for a bunch of townsfolk they didn't know. If only he were so lucky to have known them back in Watersdeep. He turns his mind away from the past, refocusing on the present.

"That would be a good thing for us to do Zelyvia, do you see an approach that might afford us some cover?"

He looks over to the large man, equally surprised that he had spoken so much. It seemed like much of the time when they weren't actively traveling, Apollo would find the goliath of a man quietly working through some book. "Just Apollo is fine. Xarian is your name right?"  He pauses, looking back over to the besieged town. "I think you're right. Simple bandits wouldn't do something like this. We won't learn more until we get down there though."

"I'm glad you'll be coming along. Maybe if we're lucky, whoever it is wets themselves at the sight of that big hammer of yours."

Finally, he turns his attention to the merchant Osborn, who has broken away from the others. A pit formed in his stomach as he heard of the man's plight. Quietly, he listens to the other young man, Trystane, try to convince the merchant to let them handle it. If Osborn seemed unconvinced, he would step in to offer his own assurances.

Russel, simply nods to the man "I hope you have a good weapon, If you come with us, preferably ranged." 

"All of the gods damn me if I abandon my family!" Osborn roars, his face turning beet red. "I'm going."  He declares defiantly, pulling a dagger from his belt. "My sister in law lives on the south eastern edge of town. Get me that far and I'll do the rest." He growls.

Russel frowns "Anyone have a crossbow this man can borrow?"

Xarian gazes dubiously at the hobbling man.  Not because he is considering refusing Osborn's offer, which he might have taken even without pay, but rather out of concern that the merchant may be getting himself killed by coming along.  Or getting the whole group killed if he cannot move quickly...

Nevertheless, the big man sympathizes viscerally with Osborn's emotion when it comes to his blood kin.  He's just trying to take care of family like I try to take care of Ma.  What would I do if she was in that burning town?  Well, probably the same thing we're going to do now.

It takes a moment for Xarian to realize that Apollo is quipping about hypothetical enemies being so afraid of Xarian and his maul that they wet themselves rather than the other way around.  "As you say, S-... ah, Apollo."  He grins uncertainly.  "You look like you know your way around that glaive."

Turning back to the others, he asks, "Southeast edge of town?  Zelyvia, you spot a way for us to approach there without attracting, ah... unwanted notice?"

As Russel starts in about ranged weapons, Xarian pulls a light crossbow from his other shoulder along with a case of bolts from his pack.  "You want this, sir?"  Wait, should I call him Osborn?  Mr. Crutchley?  Ozzie?  OC?  "I usually fight up close anyway.  Stay with our back line and we can hope you don't need to stick them with that dagger.  If you do, we might be in trouble anyway..."  Another uncertain grin floats momentarily on Xarian's face.

"So.  we should go now unless we just want to pick through ash and cinders."  Xarian looks back to Zelyvia and stands ready to move as directed.

In all honestly, I expected nothing less. Apollo thinks to himself, any man with that much rage would be willing to tear through a mountain to protect their family. He shoots a look at the red-maned wildman, giving a slight shake of his head. "Osborn," he starts, reaching out to to pat the man's arm as gently as he can. "He's right. I understand what you're feeling right now, believe me. But if we have to worry about keeping you alive to see your family, it'll only complicate things. Stay here, somewhere off the road. Tell us what your wife and kids look like, where they'll likely be, and we'll bring them back to you. I swear it."

Persuasion: 25

"Yes, I think there's a way to approach the village without being seing."  She points at a place with some trees and bushes " See there, I think it would be safe. We should go on now, the more we wait the less chance we have to find his family."

She gently touch Osborn shoulder "Apollo is right. We will find them, stay here. We need you to stay safe here and to lead those marchand. They are afraid."

Zelyvia then start to walk toward the village, trying to stay hidden

@DM: (Will we arrive approach toward the big number 4 then ?)

If Osborn insists that he must come along, Trystane, offers to support the man to let him move a bit quicker. "You'd help your family better if you'd let us go in fast. Just tell us how the house looks like, how they look like and their names. We can try to find them. Any delay, like that caused by a limping leg, will only put them at higher risk. It's your family, your choice." (Persuasion to stay back and provide the information: 20)

Osborn flusters for a moment, glaring back and forth between Apollo, Trystane, and Zelyvia. Finally, something snaps. "Gods dammit all!" He yells, throwing the dagger point first into the dirt. "You're right." He says angrily - agreeing with you, but not happily. He puts his hands on his hips, pacing back and forth a few steps and taking deep breaths. "My sister-in-law and wife are twins. My wife's name is Claire, she's got long blonde hair, probably put up in some fancy bun though. Eyes greener than any forest. About uhh, this tall." He says, holding a hand up to his chin for comparison. "My kids are the spitting image of her. Both of them a couple of little blonde runts, 4 and 5 years old. Eva is my daughter, Oswald is my son. Sister-in-law's name is Bella."

He points towards the road leading into the southeastern part of town, squinting. "Her house is on the northwestern corner of the first crossroad you'll come to. Blue roof." By this point he's calmed down some. There's still this sense of urgency and intensity in his eyes, but he's not yelling anymore. "Please bring them back, all of this," he gestures back towards his wagons. "It means nothing compared to them."

Trystane squints into the direction that is pointed out to him, "Near the church, right? Got it. Let's go, folks!" He lets the man stand by himself and leaves his pack behind on the cart that he was supposed to guard. Hopefully everything will remain there. With only his gear and a pouch he breaks into a sturdy jog (dash?) towards the town by way of the southeastern entrance. Closer towards the town he will scan the road ahead for signs of fighting and the buildings for signs of a violent entry that could suggest nearby bandits (Passive Perception 15). Once near the entry to the town (let's say about when he enters the map of Greenest) he slows down and advances more slowly, with a regular speed, but also more careful (Perception: 15/ Passive Perception 15) towards his destination. 

Zelvynia is humming as they starts running, trying to find out how her new balled will start 
"🎶🎶 And with this, weapons at the ready, our heroes ran towards their destiny... 🎶🎶"