Quest From Alliria To Elbion

[Tzuriel Alanthis]

His breathing had returned to normal and the potion began its slow work. He would sleep through the night now, but the road to recovery had only just now begun... And his sleep was not entirely safe for him either.
As people spoke around him his mind summoned dreams to haunt him...

The air was thick with mists and fog, Tzuriel ran blindly, looking for something, for someone, but he couldn't quite remember who. All he knew was that it was someone important, more important than life itself.
As he ran he finally saw a dark figure in the mists. He moved toward the figure and it turned to reveal a beautiful woman with dark hair, cinnamon eyes, and a black dress. It was her... He moved closer and she looked at him, her eye meeting his and locking together.

He moved closer and finally embraced her and she returned the embrace. They stood there holding one another for a long time before he felt a weakness began to take him, or at least, the dreamlike equivalent of weakness. He drew back and saw her face, her mouth stained with blood and her fangs glistening.
Then her words echoed in his mind, "You chose this, Tzuriel... And I am grateful for you sacrifice. Perhaps you will live long enough to feed me once more."

He remained motionless in sleep, but that dream would stay with him for a long time to come.

 

[Tathra]

“Whoa...whoa...I didn’t flinch.” Tathra staggered against Mak and Sledge. “I winced. There’s a difference. One is from fear, the other was from spell fatigue. You two really don’t hold your punches.”

Rubbing his temples, he took another swig from a mug, spilling ale all over his front. It wasn’t his, he hoped he could find his come morning. “Ya see, the last time I actually had to use these was years ago. Imagine! Ha! A maester in a bar, drinking with you lot and using magic for tricks...”

Tathra suddenly lost his enthusiasm, his expression sobered. “I’m sorry...I should go to my room for now. I’ll talk to, Pretty Boy was it? In the morning. Early.”

 

[Sledge]

Tathra was turning in for the night.

"Yeah," Sledge said. "You do that. Talk to Pretty Boy. You can't miss him. Because he's pretty." She thought for a moment. "But not a boy. Shit. But you can't miss him."

She stayed in the tavern for about an hour more. That was generous. Maybe half an hour. She couldn't really drink anymore. Hit the wall back when she puked. Sure. She could drink some more, but that'd be a bad idea. Still had a job to do, and she was already going to be paying for this in the morning.

She swapped a few funny stories with Makgraw and the other two orcs. Figured at some point after having a few nice belly laughs that she ought to get some rest. But she fell right down to the floor when she tried to stand. Stumbled about with each attempt to find her feet. The mustached barkeep seemed to be getting a little too much enjoyment and laughs over her struggle. A little sore, eh.

Makgraw picked her up easily and slung her over his shoulder. Asked her where her room was. She said she didn't have one yet. Makgraw crossed the tavern with her dangling and went to the innkeeper brother upstairs. Turned around so she could talk face-to-face with him as her upper body hung over his shoulder. That was nice. She got a room. The innkeep handed the keys to Sledge and she dropped them and cursed and picked them up and dropped them again and cursed again and this time Makgraw bent over and picked them up.

The orc carried her to her room and unlocked it and opened it and carried her inside and set her down on the bed.

"Don't vomit again, elf," he said with a grin.

"Imnahgonnapukeagain, you...biggoleorcyou," Sledge said.

Makgraw dropped the key on the bed and left the room and shut the door after himself.

And Sledge passed right the fuck out.

 

[Quoril]

Quoril awoke with a start. Looking around the small room he slowly remembered where he was and why he was there. His head was pounding and the bright beams of sunlight streaming through the window weren’t helping. Struggling to his feet, he pulled up the hood of his cloak as far as it would go and stumbled his way over to Tzuriel.

Opening his pack that sat near the nightstand, Quoril took out the components for the potion he had given Tzuriel the night before. He made another dose of the potion and left it on the nightstand with a note that simply read “Drink me. -Q”

Storing everything back in his bag, Quoril slung it over his shoulder and made his way downstairs. After ordering breakfast, The elf sat down at a table and pulled out a book to read while he waited for the others to get up.

 

[Laqueta Hala Kritanta]

Laqueta woke up to the sound of chirping of birds and chatter coming from the tavern below. Dagger still tightly clutched in hand, she let herself relax and placed the weapon on the nightstand. Peeling the comforter off her body, she tensed as the air suddenly hit her body. She rather quickly went over to the bag and sifted through the items. Swapping out her night clothes for the ones she had worn before, she brushed off her black pants. Finally, she slipped on her black boots and tucked her pants into them. Making sure to grab both the key and her bag, as well as her dagger, she made her way downstairs and tossed the key at the innkeeper. It hit him in the face and he looked up at her dazed.

Counting her money once again, she sighed in relief when she realized she had enough money for a meal as well as still having enough to lay low in Elbion for a while. At least she didn't have to hunt this early in the trip. Ordering the cheapest meal the tavern served, she made her way to one of the free tables. Or she thought it was free until she saw the young elf sitting there, reading a book. Shrugging off the discomfort of sitting next to someone, she sat across from Quoril and pulled out her weapons and got them situated on her body. The hunting knife went in her boot, the twin blades on her hips, an elven bow on her back along with her quiver. Laqueta reached in her bag once again, this time pulling out her throwing knives of which she made sure were securely attached to her thighs. Laqueta left the rest of the weapon in her bag, twirling a dagger idly as she waited for her food.

 

[Na’ill]

Na’ill furrowed his brow as he awoke to the bright light that was blinding him and his splitting headache. “Damn what the hell happened last night?” He mumbled as he slowly stirred cursing himself for the heavy drinking of last night and for his anticipated god awful hangover.

“What the hell is that god awful smell?” He says as he sniffs the air suddenly there is a banging of the door that sends a jolt through his body.
“Hey I need to take care of business!” Cries a women. When he recognizes his surroundings as a latreen in the out house behind the inn.
Na’ill then bursted out the door into the bright morning light and into the tavern and found he only person he recognized, Quoril, and sat in the seat next to the odd woman but between getting almost shit faced, smelling like shit, and feeling like shit he had no room or energy to judge or worry.

 

[Tathra]

Tathra was quick to rise in the morning, the pounding in his head subsiding with his morning rituals. Unfortunately there had been a fair amount of coin spent last night. He only hoped now that he and Na’ill could get to speak to the caravan leader. And as he stepped down the stairs and into the main room at the inn, it appeared he was in luck. Tzuriel, described by the boisterous Elf, Sledge, as “Pretty Boy”.

As soon as a greeting from someone else confirmed his suspicions of their identity, Tathra approached. “Greetings! You are the caravan master for this lovely lot? My name is Tathra, Third Maester of the College. I met your lady last night, Sledge I think she called herself, and she directed me to you. You’re traveling over the Savannah, and I can provide you my scouting skills as a Raaka, and my talents as a mage. Wards are my specialty. And my companion over there.” He gestured to Na’ill at the bar, “is also a mage. For a very reasonable price, we’d be happy to help keep you and yours safe.”

 

[Sledge]

Where was her pillow?

Sledge opened her eyes. Wood boards. An odd angle. Corner of her room over there. The bedsheets and blankets half draped down on her in some haphazard and collapsed fashion like a tent that was missing a pole or two. Yup. She'd rolled off of her bed and was on the floor and still had gotten comfortable and slept there. She didn't even remember falling or any of that.

She groaned and held a hand to her throbbing forehead. Fuck. She'd fallen sleep in her armor too. The one chance she had to get a good night's sleep and take off her armor and let her body breathe and just simply relax. Auch. Once they got out past the clusters of towns in the near western proximity of Alliria and out into the wide expanse of the Savannah, she'd be sleeping in her armor for likely the duration after that. Unless they got lucky and happened to end a day in some small village or what not.

Sledge swore and pushed herself up and swore again and stumbled over to the small window in her room. Looked out. Fuck. Didn't even look like it was going to rain. And the inn probably didn't have a bath service and who the hell knew where the local pond, lake, stream, river, whatever was. Shit. What time was it?

Sledge tossed the loose sheets and blankets back up and onto the bed in a jumble and left her room and closed the door behind herself and went the innkeeper and fuck forgot the key and she went back and searched through the jumble of sheets and blankets and there it fucking is and grabbed it and went back again and gave it to him.

She went down the steps from the upstairs inn back to the tavern. She missed the last step and slipped and nearly plummeted straight down onto her ass before she caught herself with one hand on the wall and one of the steps behind her. A glance around. Well shit. The elven congregation was at a table again, in direct line of sight to her. So much for pride. Ah well, she was hungover and it was her own damn fault, what'd she expect.

"Morning," Sledge said to them. Quick little glances to Quoril and Laqueta and Na'ill. She grit her teeth and pushed herself up from her awkward half-fallen position and back onto her feet.

Hey, there was the--what'd Makgraw say? Raaka? Yeah, he was there. Tathra. That was his name. She vaguely remembered throwing stuff at him. Why the hell was she throwing stuff at him last night? The reason eluded her.

"I, uh, I need to go get my mount," Sledge announced to no one in particular. A nod of self-confirmation. And she stepped out of the tavern and holy shit was it bright enough outside. The early morning sun to the east made her squint and cover her eyes with an arm.

She went to the stables and a stable boy, not the stablemaster from last night, had the unenviable task of fetching Mace. And the poor lad found out the hard way that Moa Striders were, in general, assholes. But Mace piped down and stopped pecking at the kid once she saw Sledge. A little extra compensation for the lad. For his trouble. The Moa surcharge, because Mace was an insufferable bitch to most everyone but Sledge. Sometimes Sledge too.

And Sledge led Mace over to where the caravan proper had been parked and decided to wait there in the cool morning air. She leaned up against one of the wagons after retrieving her reed-pipe from Mace's saddle bag and relaxed and smoked and waited.

She absentmindedly ran an armored hand through her hair a few times. It was probably a mess, and that probably did jack shit to straighten it out. Eh.

She smoked and waited and the throbbing in her forehead continued.

 

[Laqueta Hala Kritanta]

Laqueta glanced up from her place at the table, a new face now joining their table. She shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling of more strangers and waved at Sledge's drinking buddy with her free hand. So far she assumed all of her companions were hungover, minus Tzuriel but there was of course still the possibility he could have been drinking. Speaking of Tzuriel, there was another person talking to him about what she assumed was either the caravan or traded goods. Then there was Sledge. She sighed in disappointment and continued twirling the dagger with her hand. She had hope for Sledge, that perhaps she wasn't protecting a caravan with a bunch of buffoons but alas she was once again let down. Her brows furrowed in annoyance. She was pretty much the only one here who wasn't hungover. Everyone had overwhelmingly had their fair share of drinks last night and Tzuriel's state was still unknown to her.

Enjoying one of the few cooked meals she'd allow herself to buy, Laqueta continued with fiddling with her dagger while her other hand held a silver fork. Protecting a caravan with a bunch of hungover fools. That was new. Not a good kind of new either.

 

[Tzuriel Alanthis]

When Tzuriel finally awoke he realized immediately that it was much later than he would have wanted to get started, but the unmistakable pain in his chest reminded him as to why he slept in. He didn't feel the need to cough, that was an improvement at least.
As memories of last night began to return he found it strange that he was in bed, and not dead on the floor. He slowly sat up in bed and looked about the room, found the potion and message marked with a 'Q'.
So Quoril had nursed him back to health then? Or close enough anyways, he made a mental note to consider this when it came time to dole out their payment.

He drank the potion in spite of its taste and then began to carefully gather his belongings while the potion worked on him. He didn't know if it would be enough, but any skilled alchemist should be able to handle a physical ailment, even if it is internal, so Tzuriel trusted the elf. After gathering his belongings and left the room better than he found it, with perhaps the exception of an unnoticed stain of blood on the floor, he slung his bag over one shoulder and made his way downstairs.

Already some of his crew were awake and working through various stages of hangover, except for the mysterious elf "Laqueta". He hoped they were as strong as they appeared. This next part of the journey promised the possibility of trouble and it wouldn't do if all his hired help were too sick to earn their gold.

Before he could get as far as the bar to order breakfast he was confronted by a chatty Raaka who identified himself as Tathra. But Tzuriel couldn't complain about the creatures resume that he related in about six seconds tops, also vouching for another companion to join the caravan.
Tzuriel only needed a moment to think about it, two college trained magic users would be a welcome balancing force to this current band of blade and bow bruisers.

Tzuriel fished a bag of gold out of his pocket and tossed it to the bird man.
"You're welcome to join our caravan, Mr Tathra. You and you companion will be a great help. That's twenty gold each up front, the rest of the payment will be when the job is completed based on your performance."
He offered his hand to shake and seal the deal, then he continued on his way to order breakfast.

He disliked wasting time in the morning with something as trivial as breakfast, he could eat later on the road. But considering his episode last night, he thought it best to keep his strength up.
He found an unoccupied seat at the table with his crew. He looked drained and a bit more pale and grim than usual. Thankfully his food arrived quickly and he began eating, clearly in a hurry to get on the road again.

 

[Tathra]

Tathra was somewhat surprised at the ease of his new work being acquired. Tzuriel seemed a touch beside himself and not at all well. The Raaka wizard thought to offer aid for his health, but then thought better of it. He didn’t know the man, and this could just be his normal disposition. Besides, if he was at all unwell, he likely had a physician available to him. “I thank you sir! I do hope we can be of some use to you and yours. I will inform my man posthaste.”

In a moment he was across the bar and seeking out the Elf, Na’ill. “There you are friend. I do believe it’s time for us to gather our belongings. Finish your breakfast and I will meet you at the stables with yours.” Tathra was all alight with energy and made his way to the stairs. If we can make good time, we’ll hit the Savannah before the moon. That should give me enough space...

His train of thought was interrupted by him walking into something very sturdy and falling down. When he gathered his senses he realized he was looking up into the confused eyes of Sledge. “Oh! I am terribly sorry miss...erm, not miss, Sledge! I’ll try to be more careful.” And with that, he was a bound up the stairs and packing away.

 

[Quoril]

Crash!

Quoril was pulled away from his book by the tremendous sound of something clattering down the stairs. Peering over the top of the book he saw Sledge pulling herself up off the floor. After a quick “Morning” he watched as she stumbled out the tavern door.

He was suddenly struck by the strong smell and it seemed to be emanating from something next to him. A glance to the side revealed Ni’all covered in crap. Looking around the table he also noted Laqueta sitting across the table. They were shortly joined by Tathra and Tzuriel who still looked pale, but at least he was up and walking

“There’s no way I’ll be able to focus on reading with that god awful stench,” Quoril muttered to himself. After quickly finishing off his breakfast, he got up and went outside to get fresh air. After a small wave to Sledge, he started idly slashing at the tall grass nearby, waiting for the caravan to get underway.

 

[Sledge]

Sledge took the reed-pipe from her mouth and blew out a stream of smoke into the morning air.

Nice and quiet out here. Just a few early-risers going about their business in Bremming. The oxen of the caravan snorting and making their noises as they stood idle. Even Mace seemed content to just relax for a bit instead of squawking and causing a fuss. Altogether it helped soothe her hangover.

Sure, the first few hours were going to be awful, what with the riding and constant motion and all. But this was nice.

Quoril came out of the town's tavern. Waved to her. She waved back. Wait. Did she bump into him? She remembered bumping into somebody on the way out. No. Not Quoril. The Raaka. Tathra. That's right. Because he called her 'not miss' Sledge and that was amusing. Yeah. It had been a bit of a blur before the cool air of the outside woke her up a little more.

And then he started...attacking the grass.

Sledge grinned a little. What the fuck? Granted, he said he was a mage, and maybe he needed to collect that specific grass as a reagent or something. Didn't stop his display from looking funny.

She touched the reed-pipe to her lips again and inhaled and smoke curled out of her nose.

And she called out, her words tinged by suppressed chuckling, "Hey. Quoril. What the hell are you doing?"

 

[Quoril]

“Huh?” Quoril looked up, a confused expression plastered across his face. “I-I’m not doing anything. Just waiting for everybody to be ready to set out for the day.”

He couldn’t have Sledge to thinking he was an idiot for randomly swinging at the grass so he sheathed his sword. Quoril made his way over to the tavern steps and sat down, opening the book he was previously reading, and continued from where he left off.

 

[Tzuriel Alanthis]

Tzuriel finished his food quickly and stood up from the table. Perhaps he felt the urgency to be away more than he should have in his condition, but it was his habit to be on schedule no matter the cost, though he admitted to himself that he may regret it later on the road.

After settling his affairs he exited the tavern and went to see about the carts. He was pleased to see the drivers were already prepping the horses for departure. He was about to lend them a hand when he felt a clot catch in his chest, there was some pain that followed though nothing immediately came of it. But he took the warning his body gave him and sat to the side while the horses were hitched to the carts and led into caravan formation on the main street, ready to continue the journey.

Tzuriel couldn't foresee what dangers lay before them, all he had to go on were maps and rumors. And this forest was immense, who knows what sort of death may come seeking its prey close to the main roads. Tzuriel wasn't in the habit of feeling sorry for himself, but he still berated himself for the state he was in. If anything were to happen on the road he would be the next best thing to absolutely useless. He felt that even raising his voice at this point would bring a fountain of blood bubbling up from his lungs.

The drivers could see their employer was not himself and gave him looks of concern, to which he responded with a silent shake of his head. No use hiding the fact that not all was well. At this point it only meant that the hired help will have to earn their pay in the adventures to come.

Tzuriel remembered from the map there was an ancient stone bridge along their path, they would reach it about midday if they haven't lost too much time already. The bridge would mark their final exit from the Allirian borders and their official entrance into the Falwood. From then on they could only rely on their own strength and wits. Settlements will become fewer, with only the occasional cottage or farm, and even fewer would be any inns or taverns for them to shelter in.

The sun continued to rise and filter through the overshadowing trees, but for Tzuriel it always seemed too bright. He pulled his collar up on his coat and kept his head bent as he waited for the rest of the caravan to rejoin them.

 

[Laqueta Hala Kritanta]

Laqueta glanced over at Tzuriel lazily, examining her employer's condition. He seemed decent for having just been heaving up blood the night before. She finished her own breakfast, making no effort to make small talk as she finished the fluffy, warm pancakes. Pausing, glanced at the Raaka from the night before. Wasn't he one of her companion's drinking buddies? She hadn't paid much attention to any of them but he did look familiar. Perhaps one of her victim's acquaintances. She dismissed that thought rather quickly. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she turned on her heel to exit the tavern.

The fresh morning breeze blew through her hair, the sun peeking over the horizon. The faint smell of morning dew lingered, grass decorated with delicate drops of water. Sun spilled from between the tall, looming trees as bird chirped. Heading over to the stables, she retrieved Midnight and made sure she had all her stuff together. Slipping the dagger she had been playing with all morning into her saddlebag, Midnight reluctantly followed Laqueta towards the caravan. The soft grass crunched underneath her boots as she took a spot next to Sledge. Despite how annoying Quoril and her arguments were, they were the only interesting thing that had happened so far if you exclude Tzuriel's episode. She let herself get deep into her thoughts, leaning slightly against Midnight.

 

[Na’ill]

(Sorry for the late response school is hard y’all)

Na’ill slowly sat up as he heard the pouch of coins landing infront of him. He sluggishly grabbed it, “I see we got the job.” He sighed and stood despite his mixed feelings towards the work and his own headache.

As he stood he caught a whiff of the putrid oder clinging to his clothes and nearly vomited but he squelched the feeling thinking it best to not further soil the cloak he was wearing. Seeing that everyone else was nearly done packing up he decided he was going to spend some of the coin and waddled over to the inn-keep and bought himself a bath.

“Right this way sir.” He said and hastily led Na’ill to the bath house, smelling the god awful stench, where a tub with steaming water sat in the middle of the room. The inn-keep quickly excused himself and Na’ill tended to his business. He finished bathing almost hastily, but he also made sure he washed behind his ears and took some extra time to scrub off all of the shit on his cloak and found it still stank to high hell.

Now desperately he had to find a way to be rid of the stink, not being able to stand it himself. He decided on rubbing some spices they had, to keep the washroom smelling decent, and crushed it up and rubbed it all over the cloak making it smell ok... he also knocked a bar of soap and a candle because he could.

His hangover feeling better after a relaxing bath he decided he needed to find tho others and headed towards the stables outside. There he found Henry the bird harassing the stable boy. “Cut that out!” He yelled at the bird who quickly fired back “Or what? Huh what are you gonna do? You left me here all alone!” Na’ill just sighs and pays the stable boy a little extra for dealing with the crows crap. “I thought you might want some proper grooming and they don’t let animals into the tavern he says to the bird.”

The bird squaks very loudly clearly upset but strides next to Na’ill keeping pace with him as he goes to rondeau either the collection of travelers he saw gathering outside the inn. “Sorry I held you all up.” He says as he straps a custom saddle bag to Henry who screams out. “Carry your own crap for a change your making me a slave!” “Stop it your embarrassing me infront of my new employer.” Replies Na’ill who sits down by the stables to wait on Tathra.

 

[Tathra]

As Tathra made ready the beginning of his day, it became clear to him the relaxed nature of this caravan, as though the previous night had not been an indication. This would be good. No doubt the travel time would put them past the turning of the greater moon. Their relaxed nature would prove a decent fit for the Elf and he. They were not soldiers, they were wizards. Not exactly known for their discipline.

As Na’ill found his way out of the tavern and into the burgeoning light, Tathra was finishing up what he was doing. “Glad to see you this morning, friend. Where do you think you’ll want to be in the caravan this day? I imagine somewhere in the middle is wise. Perhaps if you can find the sturdy Elf woman. Sledge. She’s a good sort and will take decent care of you in case of a fight.” The Raaka adjusted the belt about his waist that carried all he needed. Everything else could be lost if need be, such we’re the teachings of the Raaka. He would of course have his own horse trail behind Na’ill, such was their standing relationship on the road. “I will of course take to the skies and check in on you from time to time. It is my most useful position after all.”

 

[Sledge]

Not doing anything. That a fact?

Well, Quoril stopped doing the thing he wasn't doing and walked off to the tavern steps to read. A book. Sledge had watched him go, then settled on looking straight forward and at nothing in particular again as she smoked. Damn it was going to be funny to see him get into a fight. An actual fight against raiders or bandits she was sure he'd probably be fine; mages do mage things after all. But in a melee fight if it came to that for him. See him swing that candy sword. Hell, maybe he'd be a mad lad and try whacking someone with that damn book.

Sight to see. He might even surprise her. Cutie with a side of ass-kicker.

Another stream of smoke blown from her mouth. Laqueta came up to the caravan then. Posted herself next to Sledge and the wagon she was leaning against.

"Hey. Laqueta," Sledge said. "Nice throw yesterday."

It was a good throw, wasn't it? Nailed that rabbit. Credit where credit was due, certainly, especially if it was something that Sledge was godawful at herself. She really did like to keep to herself, Laqueta. Sledge could respect that. And there was always one, if not a few, in a large enough group of people. A few choice names from Blair Company came to mind.

Na'ill and Tathra were coming around then. Na'ill had his own avian mount and...it talked? Fucking hell, Sledge could only imagine if Mace could talk. Sure, Sledge loved and respected the ornery bitch for who she was, but things were best left as they were now.

And there came Pretty Boy from the tavern. He wasn't looking too good. Like he was sick or had a bad night's sleep or something. Maybe Sledge wasn't one to talk, being hungover. She smoothed out her hair with her free hand some as he approached. There. Slightly more presentable and in a better position to say something. Maybe.

A glance around. Yeah, even the drivers could see it. Plain on their faces.

Sledge snuffed out the embers in the reed-pipe and put it away and stood up straight and said to Tzuriel once he got close, "Hey. Pretty Boy. You feeling alright?"

 

[Laqueta Hala Kritanta]

Laqueta glanced up and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Thank you..." Her voice was quiet. It was unusual for her to get compliments about her fighting techniques so she was taken aback by Sledge's sudden small talk. Coming from someone like Sledge, who seemed more like a badass soldier who took shit from nobody, Laqueta took the compliment to heart. There was nothing but peaceful silence until her companions' drinking buddies approached. That could mean only one thing. They were joining the caravan. She began mentally listing anything she would do for them to just quit now. The others joining her were already enough on her plate, she didn't want two more people added now.

Na'ill's, whose name she learned from bits pieces of conversation, squawking mount certainly had a lot to say, not that she could blame him. Being an animal would be... inconvenient to say the least. The other fellow, Tathra, walked beside him. She immediately didn't like either of them. Granted she didn't like a lot of people but there were still some who she would tolerate. Tzuriel eventually emerged, looking as good as someone who had gone through what he had last night could get. Laqueta closed her eyes, still stroking Midnight's mane.

 

[Tzuriel Alanthis]

Tzuriel would have liked to give Sledge a confident answer. Being a victim or an invalid wasn't his preferred state of being.
His eyes flicked over Sledge at her question, his voice was soft and low as he answered to not antagonize his suffering lungs, "I've been better. Mere foolishness on my part from a good while ago."

Everyone seemed to have finally gathered and seemed ready to go. So he seated himself and gave a wordless signal for the caravan to advance. The covered wagons lurched forward as the drivers snapped the reigns and motivated their teams to follow the lead wagon.

Tzuriel was deep in thought at the outside of their journey. He recalled the dream he had during the night after he had passed out, it had already faded in his memory but certain parts stood out in his mind. Now that he thought about it, of course he knew who that girl was, and he couldn't imagine dreaming about her at such a time was a coincidence. He absently touched his neck, his wounds had long since healed and vanished, but he could still remember receiving them clear as day.
The client.
Of course he wouldn't share the details of his client and the recipient of their cargo to those he employed. It was not their place to know and not his place to share. And that also extended to the contents of their cargo. Nobody but him and the client needed to know what was being transported and that's simply how business was run.

After a good thirty minutes on the road Tzuriel began to feel himself nodding off.
Turning to the driver he informed him, "I'm going to take a nap, inform me if anything happens or when we reach the border bridge."
With that he went inside the wagon and laid down on a pile of tarps. Soon he fell asleep.

 

[Quoril]

The members of the caravan were now all out and chatting among themselves. Quoril heard the door open behind him, and watched as Tzuriel walked past him. The elf got up off the steps and followed him over to where the caravan was parked.

It was a bright sunny day so Quoril decided to continue on foot, and as the sun slowly continued to rise in the morning sky the caravan set out. Straggling once again at the back, he opened his book and read as he walked.

 

[Na’ill]

Na’ill whispered to Henry to slow down slightly and the bird looked as if it begrudgendly complied and the two fell to the back of the party so that Na’ill was now riding next to Quoril. “Hey,” he said quietly to not draw eccess attention to himself as the group walked quietly. “Quoril isn’t it? So I was wandering what it is you do... I know that your some sort of Alchemist or what not, but what is your story?”

 

[Sledge]

"Former Anirian Guard."

"You?" said Sledge. "You were in the Anirian Guard?"

"That's right."

A scornful grin. "You're a fucking asshole. You know that?"

Remos. The lead wagon driver in the caravan. He on the driver's platform of the wagon and Sledge riding alongside him atop Mace. She struck up an idle conversation with him shortly after the caravan departed Bremming.

A throaty chuckle from Remos. "Not too fond of Vel Anir, eh?"

"They're not too fond of me."

"That's right."

Her eyes slanted. "Now I'm glad you lost your eye."

"I've taken plenty of elven eyes in my day. Wanna call it even, then?"

Sledge snorted. "Fuck you. Come try and take my eye any time, old man. I'd welcome it. Love for you to see what happens."

Remos' throaty chuckle changed into a belly laugh. "You got a lot of fight in you. For an elf."

"Plenty."

The sun through the canopy of the forest above. The open Savannah still some ways ahead. Down the road the caravan rolled. The stillness and calm of Arethil about them.

Sledge glanced back. Then she remembered. Pretty Boy Tzuriel said that he was going to take a nap. Maybe she could ask him when he woke up. Ask him where the hell he found this piece of shit Remos. Well, provided Pretty Boy was actually fine and not just putting on appearances. I've been better, he had said. Haven't we all? But if the bossman was in good enough condition to be walking around, that'd just have to do. So long as it stayed that way, at least.

"So what happened to you, Guardsman?" Sledge said. "You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

"I deserted."

Sledge looked to him. "Huh. Don't hear that often."

"That's right."

She couldn't hide her amusement. "So. What will they do to you if you go back? Is it beheading or hanging or what?"

"I'm not going back."

"That just breaks my damn heart, Remos."

He glanced over to her. A slight smile. One of knowing. "All that fight you got in you. Just like I used to have. See, when you live by the sword, the problem ain't dying. It's living. That scar you got there on your face? My eye I lost? Injuries just short of being fortunes. But no. The gods lack mercy for some of us, I say. Rightfully so, I'd wager. Don't we deserve it? You and I? The ones who live? We carry that weight. Those memories of the better men and women who've died. We carry that weight until we break. We break and we live on anyway."

Remos leaned toward her some. Sledge regarded him. He said, "You'll break too. Sooner or later." He grinned. "And I hope you live a real long life. Elf."

Sledge turned her head and spat down on the ground and looked back to Remos and smirked. Said, "I hope you do too. Old man."

 

[Laqueta Hala Kritanta]

Laqueta glanced at Sledge who seemed surprisingly chipper for being hungover. If fact, everyone seemed in a good mood. She was having quite the discussion with the lead wagon driver, from the smirks exchanged. Tzuriel seemed to still be asleep. He'd wake up soon, she hoped. She couldn't have her employer dying on her yet.

"So troublesome..." She muttered to herself. Midnight snorted in agreement. Quoril and Na’ill were conversing a bit in front of her. Tathra's whereabouts were unknown. Probably in the sky. Perhaps she could shoot him down and pretend it was a rookie mistake, that he looked like a bird from below. As of reading her thoughts, Midnight stomped on the path with her hoof as if to encourage her. Laqueta smiled faintly before frowning again, glancing at her necklace. It remained unresponsive unsurprisingly. The stupid dwarf was likely overworking himself again.

She was bored. Hopefully, they'd encounter something, anything. She'd even take a few low-life thieves at this point. That reminded her, she needed to do her daily ritual soon. Kritana was a rather impatient god. Laqueta pulled out one of her daggers, decorated with fancy elven engravings, and fiddled with it before slicing her palm. The blood trickled down her palm and she pulled out a small piece of paper stained with blood. On it was a passage written in a strange, divine language. The blood soaked into the paper, glowing a faint amber before fading. Her own wound closed up, also glowing a faint amber. She returned her stuff to her bag and sighed at her own forgetfulness. So bored.