Prologue: Troubles at Red Larch.

"It takes more than that to disturb me young man." She says to Vardo, still intently working. "But, I may not be the best of company at the moment. I need to recheck these numbers before we reach home. My husband is useless with numbers."

After a few minutes, she puts down her quill closes the book and sighs. "I'm sorry dear. I'm being rude aren't I? Helvur constantly reminds me to relax. That's my husband you see." For the first time she looks at Vardo. Her usual serious business like demeanor, for a brief moment, gives way to a more tender motherliness. "Well, I best at least break for food. We still have half a day journey ahead of us." She stashes her ledger in a backpack in her wagon fastens it and walks toward Harlo, sits down and takes a bowl.

Finished with his meal, Breezy takes to cleaning up his utensils and returning everything to Harlo. At the arrival of Maegla, he nods slightly in acknowledgement, then returns to where he had been sleeping and begins gathering his gear. He then looks for a place to wash the road from the nooks and crannies of his body and clothing, in preparation for getting underway.

Breezy finds a brook near by with fresh cool water and takes a refreshing dip.

Around midday, Harlo calls out to the party. "Okay time to break the camp and be on our way. It's the last leg of our journey. May the Gods spare us from more rain."

Yohna waves off Vardo's invitation with a coy smile, wordlessly returning to finish her meal before it goes cold. Afterwards, she pays little heed to her compatriots as she sets about preparing for the day ahead - Prayers made, minor ceremonies performed, all down to cleaning her equipment.

When they are finally called around midday to pack their things and make ready to depart, Yohna gives a cursory glance to the sky, then back to the waggoner. "I certainly hope you weren't relying on me for that part, Master Belkin," She jokes, shrugging nonchalantly. "The gods of the skies are a little outside my calling."

Vardo smirks to himself. So much for that.

Having gotten nowhere with Maegla, Vardo decides games will have to wait. He turns and approaches the human who halloo'd him earlier. "The name's Vardo, not 'elf'." To show no offense was taken, he gives Yohna a wry smile. "I overheard your name earlier, but I can call you 'human' if you'd prefer."

He sits next to her and gives her a gentle nudge with his elbow. "It'll be a long journey for me indeed if I can't find at least one person in this crew who can take a joke." He feigns eyeballing the entire party, "Whom do you think most likely among this crew to not take him or her self too seriously?"

"My apologies, Master Vardo. I can be terrible with names." Yohna explains with a light laugh, looking up to see the one conversing with her. She is a little taken aback by the nudge, being a gesture not oft performed in the court, but nonetheless chuckles and gives her response.

"I should think the dwarf would be the obvious choice. You'd be hard pushed to find one of her kind who does not thrive on such demeanor." The cleric takes another look around however, scratching her chin. "Though, that said, Master Yohrne may prove just as amicable company. Our Genasi friend would seem to be somewhat of a fish out of water, and the gnome... Well. Gnomes are gnomes, but something about her strikes me as peculiar... I can't put my finger on it though."

Falka is initially taken aback by the soldier's offer, then seems to warm to it.
"You have a deal," she says heartily. One fist lays itself upon her silver badge, emblazoned with mace and boot. "On my honour as a knight, I'll... watch your back as you say."

By midday, Falka has nearly exhausted the wagon's ale supplies, and is almost dragged from her cups by Harlo. She spends the rest of the morning washing the wear and tear of travel from herself and her belongings in the brook. She gives particular attention to the blade of her glaive, and the metal of her javelins and axes. Their fine dwarven craftsmanship has not payed the price of travel and are as robust as the day they were forged, but she polishes and brushes every last speck of dust from their gleaming, gilded edges.

She shows her face once again at the wagon when Harlo gives the call to depart. Her backpack is still swung over one brawny shoulder, as the other leans against the sagging wood of the cart. Her fingers are drumming against the wood when she spies her new compatriot once more. "Ah, Keavan! On the road once more - the final stretch it is!" she booms grandly, as if telling a fine tale. She leans in a little closer as he approaches. With an appraising look she queries, "Say, earlier you claimed the soldier's life. Under what banner did you serve?"

"An honest appraisal, albeit riddled with stereotypes." He says with a quick wink. "I hope you're right. I tend to find that most beings get unduly agitated for no reason. Of course...that could just be a consequence of my proximity and personality. The Vardo effect, eh?"." He lets a short, loud laugh escape.

A small settlement on the western side of the Dessarin Valley, Red Larch has been an important stop on the Long Road for two centuries now. Named for a distinctive stand of red larch trees that were cut down when the hamlet was founded, Red Larch became a settlement in the first place thanks to a drinkable spring that fed a sizable pond ideal for watering horses, oxen, and pack mules.

As the caravan approaches the southern entrance to the town, it stops. Harlo disembarks from his leading wagon and calls over the party. "Well, this is where we part for now. My farm is just outside of town over yonder." He points to the west. "Listen, I do have a favor to ask you if y'all are planning to stay around for a few days. But, that's a matter for discussion later. Meet me at the Helm at Highsun later. It's right across from Swing Swords Inn - where you'll most likely find your lodging. It's the biggest building in town, you can't miss it. I'll be there all night so take your time, enjoy the town. In fact, you can find me there most nights, after I put Andrea to bed". He lets out a hearty laugh. He then departs with his wagon and the remaining caravan proceeds into town.Red Larch Map

"More fashionable? Hmmmmmm... I wonder if she has any hats..." Midnight adjusts her messenger bag higher onto her shoulder, and then begins walking toward the center of town.

"The Helm at Highsun, I will be there."
Keavan nods to Falka and heads off into town.

'How quaint.' Yohna wonders as they draw into the settlement. She looks around the various buildings as they pass through to their employer's store. Once they arrive, Yohna gives a courteous bow to the couple before departing.

"I suppose lodgings might be the best place to start." She mumbles to herself, before setting out in the direction of the Swing Swords Inn.

Vardo tosses a nod and a smile in Maegla's direction as he turns to head down the road. His ears pick up on Yohna's muttering, Lodgings are a good place to start. And where there's lodgings there's typically a tavern. Maybe I can get in some good people watching and get a sense of what kind of a place this is.

"Falka. Pub?" Vardo inclines his head toward the inn as he passes the dwarf, then proceeds through town.

As he does, he turns an appraising eye toward the people in an attempt to ascertain the general mood. Is this a town bustling with trade and life, or is this a town filled with drudge and toil?

With an overly exaggerated stretch, Breezy takes his time moving, watching the others go about their business as if they knew what they were doing and where they were going. He knew neither.

Lodging means metal, and metal is precious. Maybe I can sleep in a barn somewhere. he thinks idly as he slowly walks toward the center of town. The thought of a peaceful sleep, one not interrupted by flashes of elemental tricksters and rolling thunder sounded inviting, but he could not afford to waste his precious metal; the next best thing was a hot bath.

His decision made, Breezy goes to the previously mentioned Swing Swords Inn, to ask if there was a place where he might wash off the last week and a half of road crud.