The Caravan

Arphaxad looked at the sorry collection of people that was the caravan huddled together in the middle of the road. They were wet, tired, hungry and at least for him, very thirsty for ale. He was listening to the conversations of Mork and his other companions about whether to push on for three hours in the middle of a fierce storm to reach Lambor's hold or to try and wander out to find any suitable place to shelter. As it were, it seems like staying together and trying to tough out the storm is more preferable then getting stuck in the dark. With what few remaining daylight they have, they need to do something and quick.

He noticed the pack animals with them are getting a little antsy and are ready to bolt if a large wave of thunderbolts and lightning were to come by. He walked towards the half-orc with a purpose in mind. He raised his voice to be heard in the heavy downpour ''If we need to move, we've got ta do it now! I have experience with handling animals back at home and I reckon I can move these beasts to move faster so we can arrive in the village much quicker what say ye?''

The rain through the forest canopy reminded Taz of a time before, one of her previous adventures where she and her friends had delved into dark and unkind woods not unlike these in search of a ruined temple. They'd survived the day with all parties intact, but it'd been a harrowing experience, full of hard lessons and moments where they'd all been uncertain of their fates.

Arphaxad moved past her, his bombastic voice talking about helping the animals along, and Taz snapped back to the present moment, realizing she'd been daydreaming for several minutes, now. She looked around at the soggy caravan, and then squinted up at the downpour from overhead.

"We can't be more than a few hours away from the village now, can we?" she guessed, moving over towards where Mork and the others were debating the preferred reaction to the storm. "If we dig in, maybe we'll make it to some warm beds by nightfall." She smiled broadly at the idea, and turned to look at the nearest caravaner, looking for agreement. "Just think! A roaring fireplace in a quaint little inn. A kindly old barkeep there to keep our tankards full, a local brew in our cups, warming our bellies!" She went on at length, painting a picture of a cozy, comfortable evening that awaited them once they reached the village, trying intentionally to engage the people around her, and to get them to buy into her excitement and share a little of it.