Raea Stormcrow
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The carts stood in the road, their contents untouched. If not for the complete lack of people near to hand, it wouldn't have been near so odd, or so patently creepy.
The sun shone high overhead, but the thick canopy of the trees prevented the majority of the brilliant light from reaching the ground. Raea looked about the caravan for a third time, but she did not really expect to see anything new. There were no answers to be had here, anymore than there had been in the little town half a day to the south; the bill posted there was hardly the only such posted on the hunt boards, but it was by far the strangest, After all, those seeking aid generally had some idea what it was they faced - brigands, beasts of tooth and claw, supernatural entities. This?
'A great many who travel the roads of Greentear turn up missing.' Local authorities were willing to pay coin to anyone who could solve the mystery - and mystery it was! Far from simply vanishing without a trace, the people who went missing often left behind everything they had with them. Wagons, carts, sometimes the draft animals. When it was homesteads, it was clothes and even meals left; fires untended to go out or catch their homes alight and burn them down with nary a soul to fight the flames.
It would have been passing strange if they had simply vanished, but there were always signs of struggle. No blood, though, no bodies, no broken doors or weapons.
Raea was new to adventuring, but she was no fool. The silver chased basket of her rapier gleamed in the dappled light of the understory, the leather wrapped handle worn smooth with use. And her hand stayed near to it, just in case. She was lone, and her slight frame certainly would not intimidate anyone with bad intentions. Not especially since she wore only a light leather studded leather vest and leather pants, hardened leather vambraces a more recent addition to her attire. All were dyed in deep blue, worn over white woolen underclothes to prevent chafing.
It was well that it was early in the season. She should have been sweating, but she had a predilection to warm clothes because she was so often cold. Sickly - dying, in fact - sometimes she simply couldn't get and stay warm.
Dark eyes regarded the carts. Scuffs in the leafmould showed a struggle - as had been reported - but were limited to the places near the wagons. It was almost as if the people had started to fight...and then simply stopped. Walking up to a cart, she pulled back the canvas covering the load. Iron bars were neatly stacked in the back, and sealed barrels lined the rest of the bed. Nothing looked disturbed and, more importantly, nothing seemed to be missing. Nothing but the owners and carters.
Nothing but the hired swords that were supposed to guard it all.
Raea tsk'd to herself, and dropped back onto her heels. She wrinkled her nose as the breeze shifted, bringing the pestilent miasma of rot with it; the oxen that had been drawing this cart lay dead on the ground, still in its traces. No mark indicated a cause of death; no scavengers had come to glut themselves on the free meal. The bloated, distended guts looked fit to burst and Raea kept casting a wary eye at the dead animal.
A shower of of rotting innards would not make her day very pleasant. She stepped away from the cart and its attendant corpse, and paused as she heard something. A crunch, as of a foot on dry grass or a branch, but directionless. Despite herself, her hand dropped to the worn handle of her weapon, and she dropped into a near crouch, brushing her lusterless brown hair out of her eyes as they scanned the woodlands near to hand.
The sun shone high overhead, but the thick canopy of the trees prevented the majority of the brilliant light from reaching the ground. Raea looked about the caravan for a third time, but she did not really expect to see anything new. There were no answers to be had here, anymore than there had been in the little town half a day to the south; the bill posted there was hardly the only such posted on the hunt boards, but it was by far the strangest, After all, those seeking aid generally had some idea what it was they faced - brigands, beasts of tooth and claw, supernatural entities. This?
'A great many who travel the roads of Greentear turn up missing.' Local authorities were willing to pay coin to anyone who could solve the mystery - and mystery it was! Far from simply vanishing without a trace, the people who went missing often left behind everything they had with them. Wagons, carts, sometimes the draft animals. When it was homesteads, it was clothes and even meals left; fires untended to go out or catch their homes alight and burn them down with nary a soul to fight the flames.
It would have been passing strange if they had simply vanished, but there were always signs of struggle. No blood, though, no bodies, no broken doors or weapons.
Raea was new to adventuring, but she was no fool. The silver chased basket of her rapier gleamed in the dappled light of the understory, the leather wrapped handle worn smooth with use. And her hand stayed near to it, just in case. She was lone, and her slight frame certainly would not intimidate anyone with bad intentions. Not especially since she wore only a light leather studded leather vest and leather pants, hardened leather vambraces a more recent addition to her attire. All were dyed in deep blue, worn over white woolen underclothes to prevent chafing.
It was well that it was early in the season. She should have been sweating, but she had a predilection to warm clothes because she was so often cold. Sickly - dying, in fact - sometimes she simply couldn't get and stay warm.
Dark eyes regarded the carts. Scuffs in the leafmould showed a struggle - as had been reported - but were limited to the places near the wagons. It was almost as if the people had started to fight...and then simply stopped. Walking up to a cart, she pulled back the canvas covering the load. Iron bars were neatly stacked in the back, and sealed barrels lined the rest of the bed. Nothing looked disturbed and, more importantly, nothing seemed to be missing. Nothing but the owners and carters.
Nothing but the hired swords that were supposed to guard it all.
Raea tsk'd to herself, and dropped back onto her heels. She wrinkled her nose as the breeze shifted, bringing the pestilent miasma of rot with it; the oxen that had been drawing this cart lay dead on the ground, still in its traces. No mark indicated a cause of death; no scavengers had come to glut themselves on the free meal. The bloated, distended guts looked fit to burst and Raea kept casting a wary eye at the dead animal.
A shower of of rotting innards would not make her day very pleasant. She stepped away from the cart and its attendant corpse, and paused as she heard something. A crunch, as of a foot on dry grass or a branch, but directionless. Despite herself, her hand dropped to the worn handle of her weapon, and she dropped into a near crouch, brushing her lusterless brown hair out of her eyes as they scanned the woodlands near to hand.
