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[Draignean]

Svurrl
Cam looked up when Svurrl spoke, briefly regarding the drogue before nodding and scooting closer to the collection crystals to make more room. He didn't speak, but he didn't seem to mind the company either.

When beside the fane, Svurrl could get a good look at what he was working on. An ink painting, or rather, one of several ink paintings. Several coiled scrolls sat beside Cam, and one that had already been completed lay to the left, weighted open to dry in the reflection of the collector. The one he was working on looked about half finished; the general form was complete, but details seemed missing. The paintings, from what Svurrl could see, appeared to be vistas of the hinterlands as seen from the wagon, done in a stark style of black ink at various dilutions. [Brilliance+Wisdom: Auto-Succeed] Interestingly, Svurrl didn't remember any of these vistas. If he looked at the one that Cam has already completed, he could remember bits and pieces: a jagged standing stone, more than a dozen feet tall; a fungal circle, large enough to swallow a wagon; a distant series of wedge shaped mounds, too far from civilization to be created and too regular to be natural. They were familiar, but each one was days apart on the trail, hardly part of the same panorama.

As Svurrl watched, additional lines began to take shape on the ink painting Cam was hunched over. The twisting lines of lampades at rest, the curve of a heavy coat covering sloping shoulders, a thin limb braced by knotted lampades raised towards the horizon. The details were still to be added, but it was clearly the outline of Svurrl. It just wasn't clear what Svurrl was doing.

Joan and Mudren
"Trader, friend Gude," replied a third, but still familiar voice from up the trail. "One apologizes for not being seen sooner. There is a disquieting thing ahead, and one didn't wish to be seen until it was sure of who you were." The speaker stepped out of cover, a human of middling height that had somehow managed to entirely conceal his entire body behind a thigh-high boulder. Mara's pathfinder, Brynd. Mara had once said that the reason for his prowess on the ground was that he'd been raised by Temani manhunters. Brynd had never confirmed that, but it would explain a great many things about the man.
 
"One was returning to tell the others, but it can show you. You can judge," Brynd adds, beckoning Mudren and Joan further down the trail he'd marked earlier.

Lora
Lora was on a return pass when the third figure emerged below, stopping Hawkwood and Gude. Sharp eyes found the face familiar, not a friend, but not an enemy either. [Finesse+Speed: 11, Pass] Something else moved at the edges of Lora's sight, small with distance. Near the outcropping that hid the fire, a dark shape darted out, visible only for a moment before it disappeared behind a copse of the thin trees.

Averrco
Averrco kept pace with Borou and Mara, though the conversation was infinitely less interesting when they were both on point. From what Averrco had seen, the pair would remain at the ready until someone brought back word that all was well.

When the tension was broken, it was done by a youthful morisal from the back wagon, not a rush of bandits or the crack and whistle projectiles. The newcomer was slender, pale colored, and seemed to have a great deal of reticence in approaching Mara while she had her hands on a rifle. The morisal also pointedly avoided looking at Averrco. "Lady M-mara? I, we, need..." The morisal knotted its hands, the thin pseudomans twining as it tried to speak. "There's a card game and Barek is there and we need someone else there," it finishes in a rush.

Mara looks utterly confused. "It's just Mara, Iri, and I'm a little busy to be playing cards right now. You should think about getting back and enjoying the game without me."

The Morisal, Iri, continued to fret its hands. "But... Barek... He's been..." Iri trailed off, looking hopefully between Borou and Mara.

Mara still looked baffled, but Borou groaned.  "He's been drinking like a fish and isn't letting anyone leave the table?" Iri nods and the Aoul shakes his head. "Kadi. Very stupid, very large, but a good worker. At least, when hasn't been drinking," Borou explained to Averrco, noticing the blank expression. "Mara tanned his hide just after the expedition started, for the same problem, and he's been passably sober since."

Mara cursed, finally taking her eyes of the horizon. "Averrco, I'm not your captain, but I'd appreciate it if you try and take this one. No offense meant, but Borou and I are both better to fight anything that comes after the wagons, and you seem like the kind of type that can talk somebody down." Mara paused, looking at Iri and apparently misinterpreting the morisal's horrified expression. "Plus, you're both Sal-Leifnin, maybe she'll be a little less shy around you."

 

[IronyOwl]

Lora's eyes narrowed. On the move, it seemed.

She swept down to meet the party below.

"A figure moved. Boulders to trees." She pointed. "I suggest we go greet them."

[Harry Baldman]

"Ah, wonderful. Would this figure be the disquieting thing you noticed, Brynd, or are we in danger from some possibly unrelated circumstance?" Mudren asks, shifting back to a chattel-like shape as he looks around.

[micelus]

As interesting as these two people were, Averrco didn't mind another task. Although the Morisal would of course, hate him with a passion unknown to the other races. Regardless, it was time to do something of purpose.

"I wouldn't mind this at all. Lead on Iri, let's try dealing with this friend of yours. I'm sure he can be quietened down without trouble."


Follow Iri to the card game.

[The Ensorceler]

Svurrl is more than a bit stunned, but after a a silence long enough to be extremely awkward had this been a conversation, it attempts some smalltalk. "That's good work. Not many people can do a lampade justice. Um."

Try to remember if psions are supposed to be precogs on top of their other abilities, and by extension, if this guy is actually a psion. Push the limits 15, this could be really important.

[MrVoid]

Rol sits in silence for a few minutes, his smaller hands idly fiddling with each other in a move similar to a human twiddling his thumbs.  "The way you spoke of "This place" earlier, did you mean this general area, or the town that we now approach?"  he adjusts himself, "I suppose my actual question is, what do you know of the our current destination?"

[Draignean]

Svurrl
[Finesse+Wisdom: 29-15 = 14, Pass] Psions were surrounded by rumors, and their abilities were the subject of much of it. That they had the ability to predict the future (to varying extents) was a popular theme. Unfortunately, Svurrl had never heard any corroborating information on the matter. Even the rumors were contradictory, often critically so. Logically, going by the fact that so many of the psions had been captured and killed during the Age of Slaves, Svurrl would guess that the rumors were nothing more than unsubstantiated hot air, but... there was no way to know for certain.

The fane glanced up at Svurrl in response to the praise, responding to the praise with deep bow of his head and neck before turning back to the painting. Cam's brush wove its way across the scroll, adding detail with each long line and soft arc. As Svurrl watched, it became clearer and clearer that the Svurrl in the picture was preparing to strike at something: a blank space on the scroll that had yet to be inked in.

Any further conversation was broken off by a sudden, sharp blast from below. The muffled but unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

Rol
"A small place," Creel hissed, its voice carrying a note of disdain "A town that could not let go and leave these cold lands alone. We can find the materials and suppliers needed to make repairs, but I would not leave the wagons for long if I were you, and I would never leave the wagons unattended."

Veraki shook its head, laying one hand on a corner of Creel's three lobed body. "Keep your temper, they do not deserve it." The mouth in Veraki's chest smiled consolingly and the stalk eye turned to Rol. "Anjeer was built by the Fanai during the war of the feathers, a restocking outpost for slave armies. It was isolated enough to keep attacks against it to a minimum, but with docks for airships and a location close enough to Keelai territory to make lancing attacks possible. When the war ended the fortress was plundered, slave turning against master in bloody retribution. There was a shanty town at the base of the fortress for the slaves, and that is much of what remains inhabitable today." Veraki looks oddly sad, staring off into the burnprint as though seeing something else there. "The pity of it is that the airships brought in the bulk of the supplies, stockpiling them inside fortress Anjeer in time of need. When the slaves burned the fortress, they burned the stockpiles. The people there have been hanging on by a fingernail every since, unwilling to leave, but unable to scratch more than the barest of livings from the infertile hinterland earth." 

"A more lengthy explanation of what I already said," Creel added with a snort after Veraki finished. "A town of fools, driven by stubbornness, and kept alive by dumb luck and increasingly scarce caravans. It's not a place I'd untie my purse in."

Averrco
Iri pointedly ignored Averrco's presence, its head turned a good twenty degrees away from him whenever it could manage the feat without running into something. The Leif was used to being shunned, perhaps even reviled, but this seemed... excessive. [Finesse+Grace: 33, pass] Oddly, the morisal kept shooting him sideways glances whenever he wasn't looking. Averrco could look off to the side, appearing to take in the rolling plateau's stunted trees and chaotic fissures, and out of the corner of his eye he could almost always catch Iri turning to look at him- though its eyes would be fixed away from him the instant he turned back.

The two had almost drawn even with the final wagon when a muffled crack rang out, the echoing cry of a gunshot silenced by canvas and timber. Stunned out of racial tradition by the event, Iri and Averrco exchanged a shocked glance. The shot had come from the final wagon.

Joan, Lora, Mudren
Brynd purses his lips, his hand dropping to a huntsman's crossbow strapped to his thigh. "Not precisely. This one found the wreckage of a trader wagon, long since taken. Wagon was overturned. Found bones, don't know precisely how many dead they make together, but two skulls. Small trader, likely making the cut through these lands to shave time off the main roads, same as we." Brynd turned to Lora, bowing his head respectfully. "This one would ask where you saw the figure. This one has questions."

[Harry Baldman]

"Ah, a picture is coming together. Bandits, rapists, thieves! They must be a starved lot, too, if they're plaguing this particular road. One wonders if they bury themselves in the soil to await more trader-rich times as the temprae go by."

[micelus]

Not waiting for Iri, Averrco quickened his pace as if he were going to run the whole way. Running, as Averrco always said to himself, was a precaution of last resort and those not blessed with wings. Fortunately, he did.

Fly over to the wagon and attempt landing on it Ready my rifle and survey the scene when I get there.

[The Ensorceler]

"Excuse me, but I should see what that was about." One shot and silence means either a standoff or somebody dead, both bad, but neither likely to escalate in the next few seconds. Knot a lampade to my armor and the wagon to spool myself down, preferably near a door. Once down, cancel the knot to the wagon and step inside. If Averrco arrives first, wave him down, and flashsign to draw a weapon and stay outside.

[Tiruin]

((Sorry for the wait! Got hung up on RL things, but also in volunteering in our local Psych clinic; much fun all around \o/ ))

Nearly forgetting the differentiations of race, identity and pronouns, Joan was pretty glad her youth gave her insight.

"I should contact Lora, then. Thank you Brynd for the information. I don't think I can ride back to warn the rest--it would leave the expedition almost defenseless given the vicinity. If its a bandit or other ornery sort, diplomacy shall occur: but numbers make up half the talk, bravado and words can only carry thus far, unless anyone here knows how to speak as much with the body than with words? Though I do suspect, if that's the fate of those ahead--then they're more likely wanting to not be spotted."

But I worry...our expedition has more in the way of "expedition" and less "guarded caravan". I mean, surely they're aware of our numbers but if we pass by close-up, then they may obviously see how unarmed most are. Hmmmm. Easy pickings versus staying hidden. I wonder how would it be if we can recruit those fellows instead. What was the prevailing law in this area?

Guessing her words weren't obvious in subtext, Joan discussed her ideas in full, before nodding to Mudren, "If you can, scope out the area Lora pinpointed, or the surroundings nearby. If possible, maybe provide cover--I plan to take Brynd along with me to move ahead. Supposedly, they must know we're here, else Lora's sign wouldn't be so opportunate, so we may come across as forward scouts "easy to be dealt with". I don't think anyone would suspect a sharpshooter looking over us though."

Joan then turned towards Brynd to address the esteemed pathfinder. "If one would like to be accompanied, I would enjoy your companionship ahead."

Plan to scout ahead. Contact Lora via Lumomancy about our plan (I'm still unsure how this works though, sorry )

[Draignean]

Averrco
Averrco rapidly left Iri behind as he sped forward. He was smaller than the Morisal, but that only made his wings all the more effective. He left the ground with the buzzing of rapid wingbeats and a swirl of damp air, speeding towards the top of the of the last wagon.

The top of the wagon, Averrco noted, was already occupied. Near the wagon's array of collection crystals was a fanai, wide-eyed and protectively crouched over several long scrolls. Svurrl was present at the back end of the wagon, already midway through preparing himself to drop down onto the wagon's platform. The drogue flashsigned a quick message, a brief picture and pulse series that told Averrco to stay back and keep ready.

Svurrl
[Brilliance+Grace: Pass] Svurrl dropped from the top of the wagon without a sound, his knotted lampade spooling perfectly from above him. Averrco was right behind him, and the only thing left to do was to take a look inside the wagon. There hadn't been screaming, but only time would tell if that was for good or ill.

Pushing open the door to the wagon revealed, more or less, the same wagon Svurrl had expected. Dozens of bundles and packages were hung from the ceiling, making the ceiling artificially low but freeing up a great deal of floor space.  Hammocks, strung in stacks of three, lined the walls. A number of the hammocks were occupied, each occupant wearing an expression of fright and horror. They're staring at a set of crates and folding stools in the center of the wagon, a place where the remaining civilian crew of the wagon sit or stand with matching expressions of panic. [Finesse+Speed: Fail] "... better if no one talks. Better for everyone." The speaker was a tall, middle-aged human, and his hushed tone prevented Svurrl from catching more than the last few words. The man looked up at the drogue a split second later, finally reacting to the entrance of the newcomer. The rest of the group's gaze follows the human's until the entire wagon stared at Svurrl with as much mute terror as if he'd worn death's own shadow.

The group was centered around a crude table, fashioned from crates and surrounded by a variety of folding or improvised stools. A game of cards, scattered as though in the middle of play, sat neglected. A gleaming pistol, of lesser technology but still well made, conspicuously occupied the middle of the table as though it had been thrown there. A massive Kadi, rusty streaks running through his black bones, was face up on the floor, spread eagle in a growing stain of blood. One of his eyes was wide and staring, but a gory hole filled the space where the other should be.

Joan
Brynd bowed his head respectfully. "One always welcomes another set of eyes. Come." Brynd's politeness was clipped, and though he dropped his eyes from Joan when he bowed, she couldn't help but notice that he still twisted to scan the land around him. Nervous was not the right word to describe the pathfinder, he was still too fluid to be described as that. He was on edge, a fact underscored by the way his hand never strayed too far from his crossbow.

Brynd led Joan and Tala forward after Lora and Mudren and been given their orders. The pathfinder cut through the trailsigns he'd made, taking shortcuts through rocky and uneven terrain to cut loops off the trail he'd scouted. More than once Joan found herself prodding Tala forward to hop a small crevice, seldom more than a foot or two wide, but so deep she could not see the bottom.

"Ralai can take the caravan around the site," Brynd said from ahead, his voice quiet but clear. "This one does not wish to panic the camp followers, but both you and Mara need to know of this." Brynd darted forwards silently, moving to the edge of a surprisingly closely spaced line of stick-like trees. He peeked around the edge, then turned back to Joan and beckoned her forward. "Come. This is it."

There was a short clearing beyond the trees, the remains of a campsite. The dark smudge of a burned out fire ringed by jumbled stones marked the center of where the camp used to be. A wagon was overturned on the far side of camp, and the side-by-side harness that would have kept a pair of labor-bred chattel held only a few tangled remnants of bone and stinking hide. [Finesse+Wisdom: pass] Joan knew chattel harnesses, and those lines were a tangled mess. The animals were panicked before they died. More likely than not, they provided the force that overturned the wagon. The rest of the camp is more difficult to discern at a simple glance. Tent poles still stand in places, but the tents themselves have long since disappeared. What happened here happened long enough ago for the elements to wipe away all but the most obvious signs of the former wagon crew and to scar the wagon itself, but not long enough ago for the stench of decayed flesh to fully fade. A few weeks, a month at the most.

[Harry Baldman]

"Well, no sense in tarrying about when there's adventure to be had."

Go and scope out the location that Lora pointed out, yes? Maybe take Lora along so I can utilize her as a distraction?

[micelus]

((late post is late.))

Averrco ignored the drouge; something was happening and he needed to know.

Jump down and enter the wagon, glance the room for an idea of what happened, and ask to those gathered what their story is.

[IronyOwl]

"Well, no sense in tarrying about when there's adventure to be had."

Go and scope out the location that Lora pointed out, yes? Maybe take Lora along so I can utilize her as a distraction?

"So it would seem."

Direct Mudren to the trees and rocks, in that order, then follow along in the air trying to spot any living things.