Unstable Reality 18+

The players awake in the back of a large caged wagon, surrounded by human slave traders.

A tall, broad-shouldered warforged sits against the side of the cage. His body is made mostly of unpolished metal, with dark wood visible in his joints and lower torso. Upon his constructed body he wears a dark brown cloak, though one would not think that a warforged would need protection from the elements.

Not needing to sleep, he had spent the night studying the other prisoners, wondering if any of them would be useful in an escape attempt. As they awake, he looks each in the eye and silently nods to them. While he does not know what is going through their minds, he hopes that they can build a sense of camaraderie before they reach the end of the road. They would need it if they hope to fight off the slavers.

          Curiously enough, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell Thorn was "Oh no, not again”. Many people have speculated that if we knew exactly why the bowl of petunias Thorn had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the universe than we do now.
          Well, he had woken up in worse places, but he could not exactly remember when. Let’s take a look around at the situation (Perception 11), and let us investigate this cage to see what is keeping us locked up (Investigation 6). Um... this is not going... well.

Thorn sees that it is a cage, with a standard lock.

"Oi, what was in that drink? And where in the bloody plane are we going, in such a... fine mode of transportation?" A clean shaven, scraggly haired youth of a gnome, pushes himself up to a more sitting position, trying to cool and calm about the situation. Craignar tries to recall the events that lead up to resting spot, failing to put the details together. "Anyone got a drink?"

“A drink would be nice right about now,” the gruff voice comes from a broad-shouldered dwarf slumped against the bars of the cage. His eyes remain closed, his head tilted back against the iron as the wagon rattles down the road, as though being hauled across the countryside in chains were merely a minor inconvenience. “Food wouldn’t hurt either.”
He sits up slightly, rubbing his temples, his gaze sweeping across the other prisoners before settling on the slavers outside.

"Food and drink may be the least of our concerns. Does anyone know who these humans are and where they may be taking us?" A suprisingly deep, somewhat melodic voice adds from the corner of the caged wagon.

The elf who just spoke attempts to stand, brushing his unruly auburn hair out of his piercing green eyes in an attempt to better peer at ther captors.

Perception: 26 (Natural 20)

(O.O.C I rolled in the game log but happy to roll in the forum instead if you prefer that.)

(👍)

As Zellion looks around, he sees that the cage is made of rough iron, but the floor is oak. Strange combination. As he looks outside he sees the slavers walking alongside the cage, he's traveling through a forest. He notices a figure in the treeline but before he can make it out, it vanishes.

a moderatly tall tiefling, with pure gold eyes, short, slightly unruly black hair, two horns that arch up and back, the tips curling upward slightly, and in a similarly black coat, embrodered faintly with gold remains seated, though doesnt seem in poor spirits "I could go for a drink as well, not sure how good such a thing would be, if these scums have it. I'm more worried about my instrument to be honest" (i assume we dont have out gear?)

(Nope, just clothes.)

Luce(pronounced “loose”) sits in the cage with the others. Legs crossed, calmly controlling his breathing and emotions but listening carefully to his surroundings and observing with his senses. As a short slender boy in his 20s  with shaggy brown hair and green eyes. He had only recently set on from the monastery he had lived in for years. Quickly his criminal past caught up with him and here he sat to face it. 

Zelion keeps his eyes peeled and scans the treeline hoping to spot the figure again.

He'll step towards the person closest to him in the caged wagon and whisper "Our captors aren't the only ones out there. I saw a figure in the trees but couldn't tell if they were friend or foe. Be ready and try to pass this message on to the others as surreptitiously as you can."

Craignar, still slumped against the rails, turns to face his captures "Hey, stop slacking and pick up the pace would ya, we ain't got all winter wait ya know." Craignar wasn't sure exactly what he was trying to accomplish yet, more of a figure it out as events unfold. Perhaps he captures woukd find his impatience funny and he coukd try to use that to build a report with them. But if it seems ro anger them, then perhaps they will make a sloppy mistake if pushed

The slavers ignore Craignar and continue going forward.

Thorn, a young wood elf in his mid-70’s, is gangly in way that street clothes never seem to fit. He has sharp features and a head of white hair with a black streak through it like he had seen something so sane that it had reverse-scared him. He normally considered himself perceptive (maybe sensitive is the better word), but that whole ‘cage with a standard lock’ is not going to help him out of this. Maybe there was something in the drinks; it is hard to remember. Unfortunately, that is exactly  what he needs to do, to see if he can remember anything about these slavers (History  5). Wait, didn’t someone say we were in a forest; he was raised in the forest. Maybe he can figure out where they are or at least where they were going (Survival  21). Now another elf (or maybe an elvish impersonator) is whispering something in his ear to pass on. Not a problem, “Our captors aren't the only ones out there. There is a figure in the trees but can’t tell if they were friend or foe. Purple monkey dishwasher” (Stealth 26).

Thorn doesn't recall anything about the slavers. He can tell the group is in the forest of Jura. He also covertly passes on the message.