Fate - First Reply Sleeping on the Blacktop

[Arnor Skuldsson]

I am a poor...
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One of the nicer things about Vel Anir, for the most part, was that it constantly had lines of carriages going to it. Ferrying all sorts of goods. Most traveled by way of sea, but the sea was unpredictable, and piracy had picked up near several coasts. So, Arnor had managed to catch a carriage convoy that was going from Elbion to Vel Anir. The empty carriage- a cargo carriage, was to move large items that were too heavy or too expensive and risky to lose by sea. The empty carriage he was on- rather a large wagon, more like, was going to be used to haul back....

He forgot when they told him. He just wanted to go to sleep.

They had a long journey- several days ride. Part of the deal was that Arnor got to ride for free- but his food was to be paid for out of pocket, and more importantly, if trouble arose, he was to act. Swiftly, decisively, yadda yadda...

A bump in the road jostled him awake. He'd been asleep for several hours, by the looks of it.

"Bugger."

He said, slowly sitting up, resting his hands on his knees. He was stiff. He was getting older- not entirely old, but old enough that sleeping on wooden slats on a pack wasn't comfortable anymore. He sighed, then coughed, looking out the slowly-trodding wagon. Joyous. He thought to himself, noticing that he was looking at....

Trees.

Just.

Trees.

And fog.

And dying trees, at that. Frost was coming in.

 

[Miran Ulgoth]

Pissing cold fog and mud. Miran couldn't wait until she was out of it and back in warmer climates.

The caravan drew closer and closer. She could see the flickering lamplight and torches of its sparse guards.

Ripe for slaughter.

Her hand gripped tighter on the dark shaft of her axe. Even in this swampy gloom, the silverite blade of her axe caught some light, glowing like a crescent slice of Pneria, the hungry moon.

She sniffed in the damp air. Her fellow mercenaries were a motley lot - pack of scum and scoundrels, the lot of them. But their client paid them fat coin to harass and raid the caravans between Vel Anir and Elbion. Some scheme of raising tensions on the border, no doubt. She cared not for the politics of it.

When she felt confident her fellow bandits-for-hire had surrounded it, Miran stepped out from beneath a weeping willow, axe on her shoulder, not only its weight tugging down on her, but its hungry presence as well.

A thirst for gold was not all she hoped to satisfy today. Blocking the road with her towering frame, wrapped in a woollen cloak black as midnight, Miran stood as a physical block before the carriage, a fan of sellswords in similarly grimy boiled leather encircling her.

"Halt. We have you cornered. Lay down your arms, and we might let you walk with clothes on your back and bones unbroken."

Straight to business. No theatrics, no preamble. She had done this so many times it almost turned into routine.

Arnor Skuldsson