A group of adventurers is on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. They've been walking this road for more than two weeks now, under the scorching summer sun. They are bored, tired and castigated by the trip. All strangers. None of them knew each other before the start of this trip, gathering together gradually, each one coming from a different place. They discovered gradually during the trip that they had a common goal. They were being attracted by the opportunity to make money quickly and escape the degrading state of poverty and misery that their lives had imposed, or at least escape another day of death by starvation. Their destination the city of Girdlestone, a small town situated near the Ossraun mountains, located in the farthest reaches of the kingdom, far from civilization that survives because of the activity of mining gemstones. Distant from law and with money in abundance, apparently the perfect place.

The exact nature of their task is unknown , but they are close to discover...

Day 0
Time 07:03

After one more tiresome night sleeping in the open, the adventurers are further angered by discovering they decided to camp just over two miles from their destination, the city of Girdlestone. If they had continued to walk for a little more they could have passed a comfortable night's sleep in a bed and maybe had a good meal.

In the distance you can see the palisade that protects the small town and the dirt road continuing through it. Around the adventurers only open field with some groups of trees and at the background, soon after the city, a massive mountain range, as high as the clouds preventing the vision of their summits.

Everybody set rations to 0. All your rations were used in the trip to arrive here. If you didn't bring any food with you, you are now suffering starvation.

"Maabet! A chance for something to wash the taste of stale bread out of my mouth was waiting right here? Leskyn grumbled to himself seeing the sight of the sharpened logs that formed the outer wall of the city. His feet ached, his wolf hide armor was in desperate need of washing, and his scalp was sprouting stubble that he usually kept shaved save for a single thin braid. "You know what, I think a guul drink will solve whatever complaints I have. That and a juicy hunk of glazed ham maybe..."

Leskyn remembered he wasn't the only one who was in desperate want of a good meal, in fact there was one who was in greater want of one. "Strange skin, you holding up?" he asked not knowing what to address the Deva as.

Marek walks several steps behind the barbarian, stooped as a willow sapling suffering through a gale. His emaciated fingers loosely clutch his staff, and the features one can pick out in the cavern of his cowl are gaunt, spectral. There's a rheumy glow to his eyes, and his violet skin has taken on an ashen hue.

"'Strange skin?'" he echoes, his gaze falling to Leskyn's back. "That, I suppose it is. But please, address me by Marek. Names are vital--they are the first thing we ever own, and the last thing we are remembered by." He coughs, drawing a waterskin from his belt and squeezing the final few droplets out of it, then tying it off to his belt. "Thank goodness we have arrived. I, for one, could use a leg of lamb, a pot of stew, and then a full day atop a mattress. Thank you again for obliging me by stopping sooner--I see now it was foolish, an addled decision derived from exhaustion. Let us make haste to the gates, Leskyn."

Sangen continues to strum his lute. "We finally approach our destination! Let there be some luxuries to enjoy!"

"Sorry Marek. Must be a does of hunger induced forgetfulness," he said in a trail worn voice to the Invoker.

After spending the last 24 hours asking "Are we there yet?" repeatedly, mostly to annoy his friends (although he was just lightening the mood, if asked), the sight of a town was a relief for Dairon. It was clear, though, that he was the one annoyed right now. "Who had the brilliant idea to sleep just outside the town anyway? After all those days traveling, my back could've used a soft bed last night..."

Day 0
Time 07:04

The adventurers had an uneasy feeling since the last days. They don't know exactly what provokes it, they only know the creepy shiver that passes through them every time they feel it.

Du'tok

Du'tok slowly trudges along, head down. To an outsider, he looks as one broken and beaten, but the few who know Du'tok know that to be untrue. The greataxe. resting against his shoulder, shines in the sunlight. He takes his free hand and wipes the sweat from his shaven head. It's starting to come in again, good thing we found some type of civilization. The memories swirl around him, each one a fleeting second, yet also a lifetime. Sometimes, he almost feels like he can remember, before the next one comes.

He looks at the various people around him. Mostly a decent group, from what he can tell. Du'tok has not really spoken to anyone, as he rarely speaks at all. Many who know him assume he's mute, but those he calls friends know otherwise. Who can speak when they see what I see? Who could even understand me? A few times, he has opened up, but it always ends the same. The feeling overwhelms him until there's nothing else he can do. Afterwards, he always shines the axe. Maybe the glare will keep some away. He never wants to kill, but that's always a common theme through the memories. A knack for death. Always.

Through all of this, he remembers being addressed. He turns to Leskyn. He looks down at the halfling. He nods. "Food". With that single word, he can convey so much. But only to one who is aware. He glances at the other deva. One of his brothers. Is it the same with him? So many questions, but it's too dangerous. Another memory sends him years away. "Food", he says again. He points towards the buildings.

"I think we need to stop dreaming of ghost roasts and find some real ones!" the halfling yelled. He shuddered for a second, wondering why he had compared the food fantasies to ghosts. It was quickly shook off and began walking toward the town. "Hail! Can someone point a stranger to the nearest tavern? Preferably one with food on hand!"

Marek

Marek grinds his teeth at Dairon's cajoling, and replies, "Had someone maintained the watch with an ounce more devotion, mayhap those raccoons wouldn't have made off with my map, thus expediting our arrival instead of leaving us floundering in darkness on an unfamiliar road." He makes a huffing noise in irritation, then nod's in agreement at Du'tok'c economical argument. "Food indeed. Let us hurry, before all I am is odd skin and bones!"

Day 0
Time 07:45

After walking two miles, the weary party of adventurers arrives in front of the wooden gate. The gate is closed and instead of a warm welcome, they are received with a warning shot from a crossbow. The arrow falls 2 feet from Marek's feet. One of the four human guards that are within a guard tower near the gate looks over the balcony with a heavy crossbow at his hand and shouts. Behind him, the other guards take position to shoot.

"Halt! Don't approach anymore or we will shoot to kill. Who are you and what do you want here?"

Marek

Marek glances at the bolt, his eyes widening. "What hostilities are happening here that the greeting is a crossbow bolt and not, perhaps, a 'hello?'" he murmurs. He clears his throat and cups his hands around his mouth, "Guards! We are mere travelers seeking food and an inn. We are out of our rations, and in need of a warm bed and a night's rest. We mean no harm, and have gold to pay for our stay. Pray tell, what is happening to Girdlestone that you would threaten its commerce so?"

Du'tok shakes his head at the bolt. There's a time for violence, but this is not it.

He fishes a few gold coins from his pocket and holds them up. Let the gold do the talking, it will be...safer.

Leskyn unstraps his battleaxe from the side of his pack and sets it gently flat against the ground in front of him as a sign of non-hostility. Better to make sure one does not become target practice for some nervous guard.

Day 0
Time 07:45

"I don't even know what kind of thing you are. You, your strange golem friend and the guy with horns will vanish from my sight now or we will shoot. Then we will talk with the halfling and the elf." The guard says to Marek. He turns briefly to one of his companions and says in a lower tone.

"Call the captain. We may have a problem here."

Du'tok raises his eyes to look directly at the guard. He gives the slightest shake of his head, unnoticeable to most and then drops his eyes to look at the ground. Without a word, he turns away, and takes a few steps away from the guards.

Marek

Marek scowls at the guard, his grip tightening on his staff. He pulls a couple of gold coins out of his pouch and passes them to the halfling barbarian. "Friend, if they do not allow us into the gates, please buy the three of us something to eat. We will await you outside the gates." He turns around and hobbles after his fellow Devan, heading toward the shade of a tree.

"Why that superstitious, racist, bastard..." the halfling whispered under his breath. It was this type of "civilized" behavior that had led his ancestors to originally leave the settled lifestyle, or so the stories said.

But he put his anger aside and accepted the coins on behalf of his traveling companion. "Don't wander to far, hopefully their captain has a better sense of common curtesy and we can get him to allow you inside this town," And Tymora grant us the luck to meet him in an amenable mood...

Dairon

"Well, that wasn't the first time such a thing happened, and sadly it wont be the last either", Dairon noted, while approaching his comrades.

"Marek, my friend, I was going to mention how the lack of provisions is killing your mood, but, from what I can tell, being shot by some random guards, with both bolts and words, is doing more harm than an empty belly."