Feb 8, 2024 7:18 am
Just as Dugal and the halflings had said, on the 14th day out from Mara, they passed the road leading south through the Hornwood to the north fork of the Sowkalt River (or the "Windy River," as the halflings of the region call it) and the ferries that lead to the halfling principality of Thile. They day passed uneventfully, with one halfling or another breaking out into strange yodeling songs sung in their native language (for the next few days, Princess worked on incorporating the melodies and harmonies into her lute music).
As the road continued west for the 15th and 16th days, the elves noted the change in flora from descending elevation: the flowers of the lowlands began to appear, and the alpine shrubs to dwindle and vanish. The weather continued to get warmer, and as the 17th day dawned and Dugal roused the company, he announced that, "if we continue to make good time today, we should be at Crosswell late tomorrow." As the merchants and drivers began to hitch their teams and get their wagons in position, Findal the gnome ambled over to the party to explain that "Crosswell is a small farming town, with a monthly market. As the population of Grayhaven has grown over the centuries, farmers cut back the Tanglebrier to make more arable land to feed the thousands and thousands of people in the big city. They have come to call this extended farming region around Grayhaven "the Granges," and Crosswell marks the eastern border of the Granges." The gnome smiles happily at you. "Simply put, when we get to Crosswell, it means we're getting very close to our destination!"
The spirits of the caravan are high; the sun is shining brightly through the canopy of trees on either side of the road, snow is a distant memory of the highlands, flowers bloom with a sweet fragrance, and everyone is looking forward to arrival in Grayhaven, which Dugal assures should be "in about four more days." The caravan makes good time, and with the days getting longer, Dugal pushes the group a couple of hours' travel further. The caravan arrives at another clearing just as the last rays of the sun are turning the tops of the trees golden and the shadows down in the clearing are deep and dark. By now, the group is accustomed to and efficient in the routine of circling the wagons in the tall spring grasses of the clearing. Grazing will be good.
Camp has been set, horses unhitched, and the wagons opened up to air out in the fresh evening air. In the middle of the circle, Jalon has built another cookfire, which quickly draws all the hungry travelers. A hearty stew bubbles away, filling the air with its mouth-watering aroma. It certainly doesn't match the magnificence of Tesko's culinary creations, but Jalon's food is good and filling, especially augmented with the five large Red Jungle Fowl that Elowin and Adran managed to catch in their snares. Jalon clangs the side of the pot with his ladle, signaling that it's time to eat, but the sound echoes and is greeted by the howl of a wolf, long, low, and nearby. It is matched by another howl, and then another.
Everyone pulls closer to the comfort of the fire. The wolf pack sounds very close. What do you do?
As the road continued west for the 15th and 16th days, the elves noted the change in flora from descending elevation: the flowers of the lowlands began to appear, and the alpine shrubs to dwindle and vanish. The weather continued to get warmer, and as the 17th day dawned and Dugal roused the company, he announced that, "if we continue to make good time today, we should be at Crosswell late tomorrow." As the merchants and drivers began to hitch their teams and get their wagons in position, Findal the gnome ambled over to the party to explain that "Crosswell is a small farming town, with a monthly market. As the population of Grayhaven has grown over the centuries, farmers cut back the Tanglebrier to make more arable land to feed the thousands and thousands of people in the big city. They have come to call this extended farming region around Grayhaven "the Granges," and Crosswell marks the eastern border of the Granges." The gnome smiles happily at you. "Simply put, when we get to Crosswell, it means we're getting very close to our destination!"
The spirits of the caravan are high; the sun is shining brightly through the canopy of trees on either side of the road, snow is a distant memory of the highlands, flowers bloom with a sweet fragrance, and everyone is looking forward to arrival in Grayhaven, which Dugal assures should be "in about four more days." The caravan makes good time, and with the days getting longer, Dugal pushes the group a couple of hours' travel further. The caravan arrives at another clearing just as the last rays of the sun are turning the tops of the trees golden and the shadows down in the clearing are deep and dark. By now, the group is accustomed to and efficient in the routine of circling the wagons in the tall spring grasses of the clearing. Grazing will be good.
Camp has been set, horses unhitched, and the wagons opened up to air out in the fresh evening air. In the middle of the circle, Jalon has built another cookfire, which quickly draws all the hungry travelers. A hearty stew bubbles away, filling the air with its mouth-watering aroma. It certainly doesn't match the magnificence of Tesko's culinary creations, but Jalon's food is good and filling, especially augmented with the five large Red Jungle Fowl that Elowin and Adran managed to catch in their snares. Jalon clangs the side of the pot with his ladle, signaling that it's time to eat, but the sound echoes and is greeted by the howl of a wolf, long, low, and nearby. It is matched by another howl, and then another.
Everyone pulls closer to the comfort of the fire. The wolf pack sounds very close. What do you do?
