[RP] Averancia: Hero's Call

"Not really. Most of the farms near Market Town are still operational. Its the ones further out that have been abandoned."

Lord Amberstead pauses in his conversation with the mayor, glancing up as Agamir Strongarm steps forward, his presence as solid and unyielding as his name suggests. Amberstead’s eyes narrow in approval, clearly recognizing the value of an experienced warrior in their dwindling forces. He offers a welcoming nod and gestures toward the rest of the gathered heroes.

"Ah, excellent—a new warrior to strengthen our thinning ranks." His voice carries a note of encouragement, the tone of a man well aware of the challenges that lie ahead. "Welcome, Agamir Strongarm. Your presence here is a boon, one I am sure we shall come to rely upon."

Amberstead motions toward the party, his gaze lingering briefly on the others. "Join your fellow travelers, Agamir. I am certain there will be time for proper introductions on the road, where every bond forged will become our strength. If you’re in need of a fresh mount, please make use of one from our stables. We've prepared well for this journey, and I would see every warrior equipped with the finest we can provide."

With a final nod, he resumes his conversation, though a faint smile lingers on his face as Agamir steps into his new role. Amberstead’s confidence in each member of the group is evident, his words carrying the weight of a man who trusts in those he has assembled.

"A few hours? Not along the road at any rate. I am more worried about any bandits past the village of Balgold than I am about any assassins lurking in decrepit buildings."

How do you wish to approach Blackhill? Will you be traveling by road (to the east, then north), or following the river (to the northeast)? Travel by road may be safer; but travel cross country could be more eventful and interesting.

The first day of travel is mostly uneventful; the group of heroes and their retainers making their way along game trails and foot paths that crisscross the wilderness and fields near the River Haven.
 
As the day draws to a close and the sun dips low, the heroes find a quiet place to make camp amidst a series of ancient stone ruins, their forms softened by creeping ivy and moss. The crumbling walls and weathered pillars are scattered around them like silent sentinels, remnants of a long-lost civilization. Strange carvings mark the stones, faint and worn, with symbols that hint at protective wards now faded with time. There is an odd energy here, a subtle hum that feels both inviting and foreboding.

Just as the group settles in, the faint sound of hurried footsteps echoes through the clearing. From the shadows of the ruins, a lone figure stumbles forward, clutching his side and looking worn and bedraggled. He’s a halfling, a messenger from Blackhill, his tunic bearing the faded symbol of the village. His face is pale, eyes wide with exhaustion and fear, and a fresh scratch trails down his arm.

Messenger: "Please… I need help," he says breathlessly, collapsing near the fire. "They’re close… beastmen patrols. They’re prowling closer to the village by the day, and the drums—those dreadful drums. Every night they’re louder."

He gathers his breath, his voice tinged with anxiety as he speaks, "Blackhill is threatened. No attacks yet, but the beastmen are out there, circling us like wolves. They haven’t breached the village, but the sound of their war drums keeps us awake at night. We see their fires in the hills, and there are rumors of scouts slipping past the trees to watch the roads. They’ve been getting bolder."

Go ahead.