The weather today is dreadful, with a heavy, continuous rain and greyness that makes this final day's journey to the small farming community of Felderwin from the city of Zadash feel especially oppressive. The five of you are crammed into a wagon with a covered tarp that keeps out the rain -- barely.. The human who brought you all together, Renton Cathwaite, an imperious little bureaucrat with the title Senior Agronomist, sits at the head of the wagon, closest to the driver and is wrapped up almost completely in heavy blankets. Only his face with his stylishly cut red hair, shaved at the sides and long at the top, and the tiniest brush of a mustache is visible to you as, once more, he discusses your orders.
"Baroness Irensor is concerned about these reports of the burning crops that have reached the Assembly in Rexxentrum. Felderwin is the stomach of the Dwendalian Empire. The starosta there, Theanor Whispertin, is said to be a weak man." Cathwaite sniffs disdainfully and his nose twitches almost like a rodents. "If he is unable to prevent the Kryn Dynasty from putting a knife to our gut, he is worse than useless. He is an impediment to the war effort." He sneezes and wipes his nose with the blanket he is wrapped up in. "We...or rather, you are to investigate the fires. The starosta's reports are maddeningly incoherent. I myself will be auditing the town's books and determining the damage to the war effort. If the fires, are, in fact, the work of spies, then they will naturally need to be dealt with."
He sighs theatrically, then nods at a chest at his feet. "There is 100 gold in there for all of you. I am struggling with this infernal illness, so I dare not risk the damp, but feel free to divide it amongst yourselves."
He leans back and talks to the wagon driver then looks back at you. "We should be in Felderwin within the hour. I assume this has all been clear?" He looks at each of you in tone, his eyes lingering on the towering Goliath hunched in the cart specifically. "Do you all understand your directives?"
(Go ahead and introduce your character and describe what they look like.)
Hurmfar's back and knees ache, as his massive, 7'10" frame is almost doubled over to fit in the back of the wagon. All he wants to do at the moment is stretch out his muscled arms and legs and then find somewhere dry. Hugged against his chest, doing his best to keep it dry, are his set up bagpipes. He doesn't even have room to unfold them to play.
He does run a hand over his bald head, which seems to dray attention the gray/green mottled skin, that he has been told is typical of many goliaths. The hand continues down to the thick red beard and mustache that covers the lower half of his face.
"Oh aye, your highness," Hurmfar says. "even a farmer down the deepest shaft can see what you're saying. But at least you've the sense to not try and fill my belly with fair words and are paying us in advance. You take care of whatever plague ails you and we'll find out who's starting these fires. Why don't you drop us off at a decent tavern first. And not some place selling beard-brew. Somewhere with good dwarven ale."
He looks around at the others in the wagon with him. It's been such an uncomfortable journey that they've said very little to each other. Normally he'd break the ice with a song or a poem or challenge someone to a good natured dust up, but in these conditions, where he can barely move, they've just made the best of it.
"I'm Hurmfar Ironfoundersson, of the Spire Forge clan, home of the best brewery in any dwarven community anywhere, and home of the finest smiths north, south, east or west of the Ashkeeper Peaks."
He does his best to bow his head to the others, but it comes across more as a slight neck spasm then anything else.
The tiny gnome riding in the back sees the goliath strain to speak to the rest of them. Feeling some sympathy for the massive musician he pats him on the leg. "Don't hurt yourself there Hurmfar. We'll be out of this ride and on the job soon enough. More than enough time for such pleasantries. As for myself, the name is Valhik Steeltemper. Hopefully we can do some small service for the people here. The good gods know they could use it."
Despite his attempt to sound cheerful, Valhik settles back down and looks out of the wagon as they continue on. His eyes gaze out at nothing in particular, and he appears lost in a daydream. A possibly forlorn expression settles across his face. Thumbing one finger into a belt around his dark leather armor, the other hand reaches up to stroke the long and fuscia-dyed beard which matches the similarly colored shock of hair pulled back on the top of his head.
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Iymbryl; Elven Eldritch Knight in DM Jynne's LMoP,
Maker; Vect Wizard of Automata in Conspiracy in the Stars,
Valhik Steeltemper, Gnome Blood Hunter in Archie's Tomb of Annihilation,
Kallaia, Tiefling Bard in Minotaur's Storm King's Thunder
Erbert Jenkins pokes his head out from a blanket. "Fire you say? My specialty. A nice fire would warm us up from this miserable rain." Erbert casts Create Bonfire far behind the wagon, and extinguishes it after a minute. "Are these fires being set magically? We will have a look and sort this out. The best person to investigate an arson is a pyromaniac. Fight fire with fire I always say, good Sir Cathwaite." Erbert is a small gnome wrapped up in a brown, worn cloak, with a dagger at his hip. He has unruly dirty blonde hair and a warm but weatherbeaten face that looks older than his years, with a bulbous nose. He looks a little wet and washed out but undaunted by the weather and bumpy wagon ride.
"I learned much about creating fire in unique ways from my maester in Hupperdook. I hope that I can help." He pauses and wraps back up with the thick blanket and hunkers down underneath the tarp again. "I'm Erbert Jenkins by the way, nice to meet you all. I will be glad when we get to Felderwin."
Enjoying the fresh air caused by the rain just outside the wagon, Owin barely listens to Renton, the "money" for this job. Much like any other job: find this, investigate that... but they all had the gold. That kept Owin moving. Away from the dreams of the past...
Owin sits at the rear of the wagon, looking at the disappearing landscape. The grey of the sky almost matching his long, grey, pulled back hair. In his mid-50's, he'd pass for someone 20 years his younger if it wasn't for the hair. Not that he'd want to. There's a sense of respect that comes with the hair, the grey. The implied experience.
His steel blue eyes finally pull away from the receding road, as everyone exchanges introductions and asserts their understanding. This bureaucrat that hired them only wants this problem taken care of.
"I understand. Find out what's causing the fires, got it."
Owin makes a quick scan of the other companions. The goliath certainly stands out, the other brightly colored one as well. The other two look like they might be able to hold their own. The one gnome already showing off their magical ability. It'll be interesting, all these jobs are. He makes sure all of his gear is at the ready, the right side of his dark leather armor glistening with the rain spatters just hitting him from outside..
Cathwaite's eye twitches slightly as Erbert lights the bonfires behind them. "Who knows what exact powers those monsters of the Kryn Dynasty possess? These attacks do not just threaten our soldiers on the front lines. There is a great deal of unrest in Zadash as well. There is also talk of a strange wasting plague that affects you adventurer chappies. The last thing we need on top of that are food shortages. You were all selected...well, you were selected because you were the first to answer my advertisement. But you have skills the Empire deems useful. If you succeed, this could be the making of... ERFH!!!"
As Cathwaite is speaking the cart lurches forward and the pale human is thrown from his seat onto the floor of the cart. "By the Hood of Erathis, what is going on. Henk!" The driver, a half-orc whose skin has a pinkish-purple hue ducks his head back into the covered part of the wagon where you are all sitting. His shaggy black hair is down over his eyes and dripping wet directly onto Senior Agronomist Cathwaite's blankets.
"Sorry, sire! The mud is too thick. I think one of the wheels is broke. We can't go any further without some repairs. Village is only about ten minutes from 'ere and there's a farmstead just over the 'ill there. I could fix it myself, but I need some tools -- a good 'ammer, and some strips of wood about yay big." He indicates with his hands. "Any farmer worth 'is salt would have 'em. Unless one of you fine people know about carts and can give me a 'and." He says hopefully.
Cathwaite glowers at the half-orc for a second until Henk bashfully pulls his head back out and you feel the wagon lighten as he jumps off the driver's seat. "I'm sure you're the expert, Henk." He sighs and turns to the rest of you. "Well, here's your first opportunity to prove yourselves. Go on, head along to the farmstead and see about getting us some help. Oh, and I suppose you can probably ask about the attacks." He adds, almost as an afterthought, gathering himself together with as much dignity as possible and reclaiming his seat at the head of the wagon. "I'll remain here with the gold. You never can tell about this rural towns." He says with distaste. Highwaymen lurking all over the place. Wouldn't surprise me if the Myriad itself had set up this infernal mud to trap travelers here."
"By all means, if you wish to try and fix the wagon, please do so. I need to get to town, find the tavern and take a hot bath. The quicker you can make that happen, the more I shall be impressed." Cathwaite says, sniffling and looking more miserable by the second.
Noachi, as you look out at the road behind you, its hard to see much due to the rain, mud and general gloom that seems to be laying over the area, but it looks fairly clear.
"Well folks, that sounds about as much like a cue as I've ever heard." Valhik grabs his gear and hops down out of the wagon, settling his pack on his shoulders and adjusting the straps of his armor. Looking ahead along the path he waits for the others to tumble out and continues "New friend Hurmfar, you might lead the way. You have a vantage point up there with which I cannot compete."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Iymbryl; Elven Eldritch Knight in DM Jynne's LMoP,
Maker; Vect Wizard of Automata in Conspiracy in the Stars,
Valhik Steeltemper, Gnome Blood Hunter in Archie's Tomb of Annihilation,
Kallaia, Tiefling Bard in Minotaur's Storm King's Thunder
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
“Agree with you there Valhik, let’s go see if we can get some supplies that will help us out of this mud pit. Hopefully the farmers are friendly in these parts. Lead on Hurmfar, I’m following in your footsteps (literally).” Erbert hops down and slops through the mud, joining his companions. He keeps a watch on the edges of the road and nearby areas as well.
Perception : 6
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hurmfar steps out of the wagon and stretches. His arms rising high in the air, as rickets of water run over the raised green-gray mottled goliath skin, dripping down into his thick braided beard.
“Aye, I can lead, but I ain’t no fish to see through all of this.“
He hitches his pack up, tucks his bagpipes under his arm and begins humming a dwarven drinking song to himself as he walks in the direction of the farmhouse. Occasionally snippets of song slip out.
“Ein gold, zwei gold, drei gold, drink, drink, drink.”
He also keeps an eye out for where he’s walking and what lies ahead.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Owin hops out of the wagon after the others. Trying to find the dryest footing...
As soon as they are away from the wagon, he says to the others:
"I hate mud. Seems to me the driver or.. I don't know.. his "majesty" back there should be taking care of repairs. Not the people they've hired for a completely unrelated job."
Then a moment later: "Keep your eyes peeled. Many times these farm steads are exactly what they seem, but they make a perfect hideout for bandits and the like..."
As you all leave the wagon into the cold, fall rain of late Quen'pillar, the famous Felderwin Tilllage -- the richest and most fertile farmland in the entire Dwendalian Empire doesn't look like the rich bounty you all had been expecting on your journey here. You see evidence of some of the burnt fields to your right -- it looks like it may have once been carrots or potatoes or some other underground vegetable. The road snakes around a hill, and it seems as though if you followed the road for long enough you'd end up in the village of Felderwin.
Just off the main road to the northeast is the farmhouse the half-orc mentioned, the closest one, it seems to both you and the village of Felderwin. Hurmfar and Owin, as you two take the lead and trudge towards the farmhouse and the village, you notice that at the edge of a property is a faded, battered wooden sign with the legend Wesprem Homesteadpainted on it though the original cheery yellow paint originally used is also all gone, with only the outline of the letters remaining in place. Looking up at the farmhouse, you see a light burning in the windows. Someone is home, apparently.
Owin, you also the fields of this particular house appear to be intact, and in fact, seem to be suffering from the opposite problem. Scores of late-autumn wildflowers, weeds and other thick vegetation seem to have choked the soil and it looks like the fields have not been properly cultivated for years.
Noachi, you carefully take out one of your arrows, and using the tip, scrape away the accumulated mud and other detritus the wagon picked up on the trip. With Henk standing over your shoulder, you are able to ascertain the problem very easily.
There is a sizable crack in the axle of the wheel putting the entire cart at the verge of collapse given the accumulated weight of the party and other equipment inside. You could probably improvise a fix using your rope that may allow you to reach town at least. Given the conditions, though, you have no idea how well it would hold up -- the best fix would be to obtain some more wood really reinforce the wheel.
(Noachi -- if you want to try, you can give me one more INT + proficiency check; it will take about two feet of rope of your 50 foot length.)
Hurmfar looks down at the grey-haired man next to him.
"This here doesn't look like much of a farm," he booms. "If I'd let this many weeds get to me mum's hops fields she would've been livid and shouted that she'd scalp my wee behind."
He then nods up at the house.
"Lights are on but I'm not thinking they're farmers."
Hurmfar continues slogging through the soft ground and continues up to the farmhouse and knocks on the front door.
Owin keeps one hand on the handle of one of his two handaxes, hanging from his hip. "Elderly farmers? Or possibly squatters. Either way... let's be careful..."
He slides over to the side of the house, next to the door as Hurmfar knocks.
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Prologue
The weather today is dreadful, with a heavy, continuous rain and greyness that makes this final day's journey to the small farming community of Felderwin from the city of Zadash feel especially oppressive. The five of you are crammed into a wagon with a covered tarp that keeps out the rain -- barely.. The human who brought you all together, Renton Cathwaite, an imperious little bureaucrat with the title Senior Agronomist, sits at the head of the wagon, closest to the driver and is wrapped up almost completely in heavy blankets. Only his face with his stylishly cut red hair, shaved at the sides and long at the top, and the tiniest brush of a mustache is visible to you as, once more, he discusses your orders.
"Baroness Irensor is concerned about these reports of the burning crops that have reached the Assembly in Rexxentrum. Felderwin is the stomach of the Dwendalian Empire. The starosta there, Theanor Whispertin, is said to be a weak man." Cathwaite sniffs disdainfully and his nose twitches almost like a rodents. "If he is unable to prevent the Kryn Dynasty from putting a knife to our gut, he is worse than useless. He is an impediment to the war effort." He sneezes and wipes his nose with the blanket he is wrapped up in. "We...or rather, you are to investigate the fires. The starosta's reports are maddeningly incoherent. I myself will be auditing the town's books and determining the damage to the war effort. If the fires, are, in fact, the work of spies, then they will naturally need to be dealt with."
He sighs theatrically, then nods at a chest at his feet. "There is 100 gold in there for all of you. I am struggling with this infernal illness, so I dare not risk the damp, but feel free to divide it amongst yourselves."
He leans back and talks to the wagon driver then looks back at you. "We should be in Felderwin within the hour. I assume this has all been clear?" He looks at each of you in tone, his eyes lingering on the towering Goliath hunched in the cart specifically. "Do you all understand your directives?"
(Go ahead and introduce your character and describe what they look like.)
Hurmfar's back and knees ache, as his massive, 7'10" frame is almost doubled over to fit in the back of the wagon. All he wants to do at the moment is stretch out his muscled arms and legs and then find somewhere dry. Hugged against his chest, doing his best to keep it dry, are his set up bagpipes. He doesn't even have room to unfold them to play.
He does run a hand over his bald head, which seems to dray attention the gray/green mottled skin, that he has been told is typical of many goliaths. The hand continues down to the thick red beard and mustache that covers the lower half of his face.
"Oh aye, your highness," Hurmfar says. "even a farmer down the deepest shaft can see what you're saying. But at least you've the sense to not try and fill my belly with fair words and are paying us in advance. You take care of whatever plague ails you and we'll find out who's starting these fires. Why don't you drop us off at a decent tavern first. And not some place selling beard-brew. Somewhere with good dwarven ale."
He looks around at the others in the wagon with him. It's been such an uncomfortable journey that they've said very little to each other. Normally he'd break the ice with a song or a poem or challenge someone to a good natured dust up, but in these conditions, where he can barely move, they've just made the best of it.
"I'm Hurmfar Ironfoundersson, of the Spire Forge clan, home of the best brewery in any dwarven community anywhere, and home of the finest smiths north, south, east or west of the Ashkeeper Peaks."
He does his best to bow his head to the others, but it comes across more as a slight neck spasm then anything else.
The tiny gnome riding in the back sees the goliath strain to speak to the rest of them. Feeling some sympathy for the massive musician he pats him on the leg. "Don't hurt yourself there Hurmfar. We'll be out of this ride and on the job soon enough. More than enough time for such pleasantries. As for myself, the name is Valhik Steeltemper. Hopefully we can do some small service for the people here. The good gods know they could use it."
Despite his attempt to sound cheerful, Valhik settles back down and looks out of the wagon as they continue on. His eyes gaze out at nothing in particular, and he appears lost in a daydream. A possibly forlorn expression settles across his face. Thumbing one finger into a belt around his dark leather armor, the other hand reaches up to stroke the long and fuscia-dyed beard which matches the similarly colored shock of hair pulled back on the top of his head.
Iymbryl; Elven Eldritch Knight in DM Jynne's LMoP,
Maker; Vect Wizard of Automata in Conspiracy in the Stars,
Valhik Steeltemper, Gnome Blood Hunter in Archie's Tomb of Annihilation,
Kallaia, Tiefling Bard in Minotaur's Storm King's Thunder
Erbert Jenkins pokes his head out from a blanket. "Fire you say? My specialty. A nice fire would warm us up from this miserable rain." Erbert casts Create Bonfire far behind the wagon, and extinguishes it after a minute. "Are these fires being set magically? We will have a look and sort this out. The best person to investigate an arson is a pyromaniac. Fight fire with fire I always say, good Sir Cathwaite." Erbert is a small gnome wrapped up in a brown, worn cloak, with a dagger at his hip. He has unruly dirty blonde hair and a warm but weatherbeaten face that looks older than his years, with a bulbous nose. He looks a little wet and washed out but undaunted by the weather and bumpy wagon ride.
"I learned much about creating fire in unique ways from my maester in Hupperdook. I hope that I can help." He pauses and wraps back up with the thick blanket and hunkers down underneath the tarp again. "I'm Erbert Jenkins by the way, nice to meet you all. I will be glad when we get to Felderwin."
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Enjoying the fresh air caused by the rain just outside the wagon, Owin barely listens to Renton, the "money" for this job. Much like any other job: find this, investigate that... but they all had the gold. That kept Owin moving. Away from the dreams of the past...
Owin sits at the rear of the wagon, looking at the disappearing landscape. The grey of the sky almost matching his long, grey, pulled back hair. In his mid-50's, he'd pass for someone 20 years his younger if it wasn't for the hair. Not that he'd want to. There's a sense of respect that comes with the hair, the grey. The implied experience.
His steel blue eyes finally pull away from the receding road, as everyone exchanges introductions and asserts their understanding. This bureaucrat that hired them only wants this problem taken care of.
"I understand. Find out what's causing the fires, got it."
Owin makes a quick scan of the other companions. The goliath certainly stands out, the other brightly colored one as well. The other two look like they might be able to hold their own. The one gnome already showing off their magical ability. It'll be interesting, all these jobs are. He makes sure all of his gear is at the ready, the right side of his dark leather armor glistening with the rain spatters just hitting him from outside..
Cathwaite's eye twitches slightly as Erbert lights the bonfires behind them. "Who knows what exact powers those monsters of the Kryn Dynasty possess? These attacks do not just threaten our soldiers on the front lines. There is a great deal of unrest in Zadash as well. There is also talk of a strange wasting plague that affects you adventurer chappies. The last thing we need on top of that are food shortages. You were all selected...well, you were selected because you were the first to answer my advertisement. But you have skills the Empire deems useful. If you succeed, this could be the making of... ERFH!!!"
As Cathwaite is speaking the cart lurches forward and the pale human is thrown from his seat onto the floor of the cart. "By the Hood of Erathis, what is going on. Henk!" The driver, a half-orc whose skin has a pinkish-purple hue ducks his head back into the covered part of the wagon where you are all sitting. His shaggy black hair is down over his eyes and dripping wet directly onto Senior Agronomist Cathwaite's blankets.
"Sorry, sire! The mud is too thick. I think one of the wheels is broke. We can't go any further without some repairs. Village is only about ten minutes from 'ere and there's a farmstead just over the 'ill there. I could fix it myself, but I need some tools -- a good 'ammer, and some strips of wood about yay big." He indicates with his hands. "Any farmer worth 'is salt would have 'em. Unless one of you fine people know about carts and can give me a 'and." He says hopefully.
Cathwaite glowers at the half-orc for a second until Henk bashfully pulls his head back out and you feel the wagon lighten as he jumps off the driver's seat. "I'm sure you're the expert, Henk." He sighs and turns to the rest of you. "Well, here's your first opportunity to prove yourselves. Go on, head along to the farmstead and see about getting us some help. Oh, and I suppose you can probably ask about the attacks." He adds, almost as an afterthought, gathering himself together with as much dignity as possible and reclaiming his seat at the head of the wagon. "I'll remain here with the gold. You never can tell about this rural towns." He says with distaste. Highwaymen lurking all over the place. Wouldn't surprise me if the Myriad itself had set up this infernal mud to trap travelers here."
"By all means, if you wish to try and fix the wagon, please do so. I need to get to town, find the tavern and take a hot bath. The quicker you can make that happen, the more I shall be impressed." Cathwaite says, sniffling and looking more miserable by the second.
Noachi, as you look out at the road behind you, its hard to see much due to the rain, mud and general gloom that seems to be laying over the area, but it looks fairly clear.
"Well folks, that sounds about as much like a cue as I've ever heard." Valhik grabs his gear and hops down out of the wagon, settling his pack on his shoulders and adjusting the straps of his armor. Looking ahead along the path he waits for the others to tumble out and continues "New friend Hurmfar, you might lead the way. You have a vantage point up there with which I cannot compete."
Iymbryl; Elven Eldritch Knight in DM Jynne's LMoP,
Maker; Vect Wizard of Automata in Conspiracy in the Stars,
Valhik Steeltemper, Gnome Blood Hunter in Archie's Tomb of Annihilation,
Kallaia, Tiefling Bard in Minotaur's Storm King's Thunder
“Agree with you there Valhik, let’s go see if we can get some supplies that will help us out of this mud pit. Hopefully the farmers are friendly in these parts. Lead on Hurmfar, I’m following in your footsteps (literally).” Erbert hops down and slops through the mud, joining his companions. He keeps a watch on the edges of the road and nearby areas as well.
Perception : 6
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Hurmfar steps out of the wagon and stretches. His arms rising high in the air, as rickets of water run over the raised green-gray mottled goliath skin, dripping down into his thick braided beard.
“Aye, I can lead, but I ain’t no fish to see through all of this.“
He hitches his pack up, tucks his bagpipes under his arm and begins humming a dwarven drinking song to himself as he walks in the direction of the farmhouse. Occasionally snippets of song slip out.
“Ein gold, zwei gold, drei gold, drink, drink, drink.”
He also keeps an eye out for where he’s walking and what lies ahead.
Perception: 9
Owin hops out of the wagon after the others. Trying to find the dryest footing...
As soon as they are away from the wagon, he says to the others:
"I hate mud. Seems to me the driver or.. I don't know.. his "majesty" back there should be taking care of repairs. Not the people they've hired for a completely unrelated job."
Then a moment later: "Keep your eyes peeled. Many times these farm steads are exactly what they seem, but they make a perfect hideout for bandits and the like..."
Perception: 16
As you all leave the wagon into the cold, fall rain of late Quen'pillar, the famous Felderwin Tilllage -- the richest and most fertile farmland in the entire Dwendalian Empire doesn't look like the rich bounty you all had been expecting on your journey here. You see evidence of some of the burnt fields to your right -- it looks like it may have once been carrots or potatoes or some other underground vegetable. The road snakes around a hill, and it seems as though if you followed the road for long enough you'd end up in the village of Felderwin.
Just off the main road to the northeast is the farmhouse the half-orc mentioned, the closest one, it seems to both you and the village of Felderwin. Hurmfar and Owin, as you two take the lead and trudge towards the farmhouse and the village, you notice that at the edge of a property is a faded, battered wooden sign with the legend Wesprem Homestead painted on it though the original cheery yellow paint originally used is also all gone, with only the outline of the letters remaining in place. Looking up at the farmhouse, you see a light burning in the windows. Someone is home, apparently.
Owin, you also the fields of this particular house appear to be intact, and in fact, seem to be suffering from the opposite problem. Scores of late-autumn wildflowers, weeds and other thick vegetation seem to have choked the soil and it looks like the fields have not been properly cultivated for years.
(Noachi -- roll a vehicle proficiency check.)
Noachi, you carefully take out one of your arrows, and using the tip, scrape away the accumulated mud and other detritus the wagon picked up on the trip. With Henk standing over your shoulder, you are able to ascertain the problem very easily.
There is a sizable crack in the axle of the wheel putting the entire cart at the verge of collapse given the accumulated weight of the party and other equipment inside. You could probably improvise a fix using your rope that may allow you to reach town at least. Given the conditions, though, you have no idea how well it would hold up -- the best fix would be to obtain some more wood really reinforce the wheel.
(Noachi -- if you want to try, you can give me one more INT + proficiency check; it will take about two feet of rope of your 50 foot length.)
Hurmfar looks down at the grey-haired man next to him.
"This here doesn't look like much of a farm," he booms. "If I'd let this many weeds get to me mum's hops fields she would've been livid and shouted that she'd scalp my wee behind."
He then nods up at the house.
"Lights are on but I'm not thinking they're farmers."
Hurmfar continues slogging through the soft ground and continues up to the farmhouse and knocks on the front door.
Owin keeps one hand on the handle of one of his two handaxes, hanging from his hip. "Elderly farmers? Or possibly squatters. Either way... let's be careful..."
He slides over to the side of the house, next to the door as Hurmfar knocks.