“Ag, you need to lighten up. This whole straight-arrow thing really kills the mood. A good-lookin’ guy like you shouldn’t be so somber…”. She smiled, trying to get him to return the smile. It was her way. Courtenay Nightglade had recently been promoted out of one of the more prestigious schools of magic in Orsholon City. And she was no slouch at turning on the charm.
Agnese Oatspell was another story. Smart, wise, but no patience for the frivolous, the fighter had recently graduated from the Royal Guard Academy in Orsholon City. He was well respected for his by-the-book demeanor and for his prowess with a sword. He also was well-known for his apparent lack of fear. Word was he could “stare down a hell-hound without flinching”. He simply kept walking down the road. The smile Courtenay was looking for wasn’t coming.
He was the strong, silent type. Ninette, however was the dark, mysterious one. Ninette never showed a face – not even to their companions – rarely spoke, and always seemed a bit aloof. Not in a pretentious way. They had an air of nobility – and was skilled at some of the less savory tasks.
Rounding out the group was a mountain of a man, the Goliath named Beivalur. Traditionally, Goliaths were fighters, warriors. But he found a different calling, as a form of support to the warriors. As a healer, he had chosen to keep his Goliath fighting brethren in the best of health. To do so, he left his tribe in the Rinzeremel Mountains and headed to Orsholon City to train in the restorative arts. There, he was able to indulge his insatiable desire for knowledge. A big man, a big heart, on a mission to heal.
“Nightglade, leave the man be. He has his path, you have yours. For now, all our paths have converged. They will, at some point, diverge once again. But for now, let us make the most of our meeting”. Beivalur was doing his best to diffuse a potentially uncomfortable situation before it got out of hand.
“Hmmph. Just having a little fun” grumbled Courtenay.
They were an uncommon group. With the exception of Ninette, they had recently emerged from their respective schools, and as was custom, spent a few nights in revelry and imbibing. After a few pints, many ideas that might not have seen the light of day start sounding promising. And so it was that, around a table in the @[Enchanted Jackal Pub](location:5e1dd8f1-1b0e-4576-82ef-c672cada4047), that these four decided to head to Lawcrane together.
Agnese was looking to visit the Royal Guard post in Lawcrane and see if there were any assignments available to him. Beivalur wanted to gain more information about the coastal region, and Courtenay had heard the port town was a little more, shall we say, “free” in their moral norms. Ninette just seemed to follow along for reasons that no one really knew. They planned to meet at dawn the next morning just inside the Orsholon City Main Gate.
As the sun rose over the Rinzeremel Mountains to the north, three of the four gathered at the gate. The air was crisp and cool. The seasons had not yet turned warm, and the wind from the mountains was refreshing when shaking off a night at the pub.
“Where’s the wizard?”. Agnese was not one for waiting around. Or people being late. Or people who couldn’t handle their liquor. Frankly, he was already questioning this idea. He didn’t need help, the road to Lawcrane was fairly safe. And now he was waiting on an overly friendly magic-wielder.
Beivalur sensed the annoyance, as he himself had begun to get impatient. But exacerbating the situation would not help. “Oatspell, the day is still young. We’ll wait just a few more minutes and if Nightglade does not show, we’ll proceed ahead.”
Agnese grunted. He’d wait just a bit more. But that’s it.
Agnese was just about to start out when Courtenay showed up.
“Where did you guys get to last night? I remember talking about meeting here, then got…uhhh… involved with a trader from Lawcrane. Man did he… never mind. So what are we waiting for?”
“You” grunted Agnese.
“Wow, good morning to you too. Head a little achy from last night? Or did you not get…”
“ENOUGH!”. Agnese looked ready to explode. “Do you NEVER SHUT UP?”
“Alright, sorry.”
The four picked up their packs and began their journey through the gate to Orsholon City and onto the Orsholon/Lawcrane Road. If weather held up, they would make Lawcrane in about 2-3 weeks on foot. The stables in the city had been overbooked, which was unfortunate. By horse, it would have been more like a 10-day trip.
The road was well traveled and clear this time of year. There was still a significant snow cap in the higher elevations, but along the road, the worst they might find was a few muddy patches.
With Courtenay‘s attempt at lightening the mood set aside, the four walked on toward the Zeremel Forest. This first few miles were in the protectorate of the Royal Family of Orsholon, and were filled with tall fragrant pines that gave way to stands of ancient oak. This was a place that was sacred to the Royals, and no logging nor hunting was allowed. Not even by the Royal Family.
Because of this, the forest was thick and lush, and the wildlife was abundant and relatively unafraid of those entering. The air was filled with the sound of birds singing and the scent of damp ground and foliage. In the thicker parts of the forest, the sunlight barely filtered its way through the high canopy of trees, with shafts of light streaming down and cutting through the mist in the morning.
The group would travel to the far edge of the forest and find a place to encamp there for the night.
