Dain
“The raucous music by the campfire is enough to attract every cutthroat from here to Daggerford.” You think, “Blast their recklessness.” You keep a steady eye to the road and countryside. Perhaps this is destinies. If these bandits come to me, then it is all the easier to either convert them, or purge them like the miserable fleas they are. In your heart, you know you are young and lack real work experience. That’s why you signed up for this. But most of them seem like grifters out to shell inferior products to the unsuspecting. The weapon smith who hired you, for example, Pollicaster he is called. His weapons are sleek to look at but made from inferior material. It would not hold-up in a real battle. Yet he tal;is about it as if it is the finest weaponry one could posses. Not evil, but still he is a charlatan and you barely tolerate him. You yawn, despite yourself. I has been a long day and the small town shops, to sell goods, have been tedious. With one laser look around the grounds, you move back to the campfire. There are all kinds here, smiths, religious folks, alchemists, crafters, leather workers, bakers, etc.. This merchant wagon caravan saw strength in numbers and several businesses signed up to participate. Sensible. The music is loud bu the faces are stern. You step into the firelight and take measure of you 20+ travel companions.
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Rinn,
It is so dark and the branches grasp at your legs and feet as you rush through the woods. You can hear the bellowing of the hounds in hot pursuit. “How was I to know?” You rationalize to yourself even in this desperate moment. You hear horsemen and see lantern light behind you. “She was very attractive to me.. I barely did anything to seduce her..she practically forced herself on me.”. You plead futile. You know you are mustering a verbal defense for an angry lynch mob not interested in your reasons. There will be no trial. Only a tree and a rope. Or maybe something that involves burning. You pick up the pace and almost lose an eye to a pokey stick,. “Look at her! She told me she was of age.. How could I say no..She practically begged me.” The horsemen seem to be fanning out to encircle you. Most of your magic sapped trying to help her “get there” has led to this. After she “got hers” her father shows up. A priest of sorts. One of thos witch-burning, evil-purging types. Not the try-to-save-poor-lost-Rinn type. Nope, not him. More like let’s-burn-Rinn-at-the-stake type. You way your options. You could hide but the hounds will sniff you out. You can run but their faster and will catch you. Not good!. The whole thing seems hopeless. “What an undignified way to die..” you think “My death should be much more epic than this..” Perhaps all this pondering, fleeing, and darkness distracted you from the cliff concealed in the dense brush. But the last thing you remember is suddenly having no ground beneath your feet and falling ungracefully into a river. You care boy feel the cold water before your head hits the stones and you fade to black.
“Light..well grayish light.” You site upright in a woodland area. A dirt road nearby, A pale mist shrouds the ground and you try to get a bearing on where you are. You feel strangely refreshed. No ill effects from the falling or cracking your skull. Was it a dream? Your sodden hair and clothes seem to validate you were very wet. Though the ground here is dry. You here a muffled whimpering of a child up the hill. Down the hill, a small hamlet, perhaps. You see a house..a stable, and out building.. Back up the hill, a soothing female voice. Perhaps a mother trying to placate the child.