Prologue: Troubles at Red Larch.

Yohna would have given a lot to be back in her bed last night. Honestly, she was beginning to wonder if all this bad weather happening as soon as she decided to leave Waterdeep was some kind of ill omen.

Nevertheless, she sat up and finished waking herself, performing a quick, silent prayer as she did. The cleric looked around at the various others who had gathered, some to hitch a ride, others to guard the caravan. It was quite a mix, including a dwarf, an elf, even one of the elemental Genasi - a curious looking creature indeed - and a gnome, who she'd initially and shamefully mistaken for a child.

Now fully aware, Yohna focused her attention on the food being made, producing a most welcome scent that no corner of the camp escaped.

"Good morning to you, master Belkin." She said with a polite smile. Seeing that the others were still coming to their senses, the human woman stood and made her way over to the pot. "It smells delightful. Well, you know what they say about the early bird - I'll take a bowl as soon as it's ready, if it's going."

Keavan rises quickly and efficiently, running through a few basic stretches as he walks to Harlo to get breakfast, giving a quick nod to Maegla as he passes.

"World famous? Are you sure you don't mean infamous?" Keavan jokes with Harlo taking a bowl.

He takes his bowl of stew and finds a spot to sit where he can get a good view of the surroundings, the watchful habits of his soldiering past being hard to shake.

On first glance you wouldn't know Keavan was half elven, his muscular bulk clearly coming from his human half, only seeing the slight point to his ears and the occasional graceful movement giving away his heritage.

With an abrupt stretch, Falka kicked over a mug which had been resting peacefully at the end of her bedroll, announcing her awakening with a loud clatter. She jerked upright and onto her feet, simultaneously slinging her backpack over her shoulder.
"Ah... I don't suppose anyone's broken open the ale yet?" she yawned, expecting to be proven wrong. In the morning light the silver badge upon her chest glimmered, and strands of golden hair stuck out at odd directions atop her head. She might have been mistaken for a human at first glance - almost too tall and lean to be a dwarf - but her square jaw and hands like cooking pans served as unmistakable signs of her race. She plodded over to the fireside, scooping her mug up in a bear-like paw. The other two guards sat already in the glow of the flames. Falka gave each an assessing glance. One, a half-elven sort, was well muscled but wiry, clearly a man who had seen a few battles. The other, a youthful human, looked to her like she'd never seen a sword. Silently, the dwarf wondered how she'd got the job.

More pressing a wonder - to Falka anyway - was the fact that neither were drinking. With a disgruntled sigh she rumbled, "You want something done right... you do it yourself." and with that, set about rummaging in one of the carts for something to quench her thirst.

Falka easily finds a mug of ale dangling from a hook just inside Harlo's wagon and Harlo gestures to her. "I'll take some of that."

Breezy came awake with a start, the long, low hiss of air escaping his lips an indication of the fitful state sleep had afforded him. He sat quietly a moment, his pale blue eyes blinking several times as he came to grips with where he was. His skin was blue, though not overly dark, and had small markings all over, as if a blind tattoo artist had had his way with the Genasi's skin. His hair was a shock of tangled white, and when he stood, his lithe frame peaked above six feet. The only bit of color on him or his brownish leather attire was the pale pink of his lips. Even his quarterstaff was made of a pure white wood of some sort.

For the longest time, Breezy contemplated the blue sky. And while the others seemed to welcome the respite from all of the rain, he seemed to look as if a dagger had been stuck in him. Turning and moving slowly toward the fire, his melancholy demeanor gave his handsome visage a haunted look, as if resigned to an ill fate.

Sniffing at what Harlo was offering, Breezy's nose wrinkles in apparent distaste. "Perhapssss with ssslightly lesss meat? Or better, no meat?" he says, his voice coming in a pitch that sounded like too much air rushing across his vocal chords.

When he received his portion, Breezy moves slowly over to where Endrith Vallivoe was digging through his wagon. Do you require assssssissstance, master Vallivoe?

Vardo had been awake for quite awhile when the others started to stir. His brief meditation had served to fully rejuvenate him and he was ready for the day. However, he often found observations made when others thought you weren't paying attention to be not only the most useful, but the most fun to gather. But he had learned all he could while in his current position. It was time to get out of this wagon and interact with the others.

Whom should I be for these people? he considered. Neither the confused old beggar nor the helpless urchin made sense. Perhaps the haughty, high elf noble. That was a fun character to play. He stretched his back as he feigned waking and got to his feet.

No. Without a clear objective or mark, I'll have to just be me. He hoped down from the back of the wagon and took in the campsite. I'll just have to find other ways to amuse myself.

He considered joining the soldiers at the fire. Although he had a soft spot in his heart for the pugilistic, he was also cautious around people who enjoyed fighting overmuch. Some were good-hearted and among the best beings in Faerun while others just enjoyed causing pain and suffering. Although these seemed to fall more in the former category, they bore closer observation....but perhaps from afar.

He smirked at the boisterous dwarf clanking about for ale. He never shared his family's hatred of the dwarves. They loved life and didn't have time for pretense. I think I'll get along with that one, but better let her find her cup first.

His gaze finally rested on Maegla. Now that's interesting. I wonder what's in those ledgers...

Vardo sauntered over to Harlo Belkin and graciously accepted a bowl being sure to smile warmly at the stocky fellow. With bowl in hand, he slowly made his way toward the dark skinned woman and her interesting book. Middle aged; so she's seen a thing or two and likely not easily charmed by flirtation or willing to put up with banal chatter. he thought as he approached. Clearly intelligent. She has an almost noble countenance to her appearance. That could be useful...

He sat down near her, making sure not to invade her space or position himself in any way that could be interpreted as trying to look at that book of hers. He nodded toward her as he sat, "Morning," then gently twirled a spoon around the contents of his bowl using just the right amount of table etiquette without crossing the line into snobbery.

"Thank you kindly." Yohna replied to the cook, taking her bowl back to a comfortable enough rock to sit and eat. She caught a glimpse of the burly-looking man she'd previously taken for a human, only now noting in a soft breeze (Or was that the Genasi's voice? It was hard to tell) that his ears were slightly pointed, making him a half-elf - Another interesting addition to the group.

As she began to eat, she took closer note of some of the others. One, the dwarf, was already calling for the drink, barely a foot out of bed as she did. Yohna herself figured it a bit early for booze - Best save it for the colder nights - But then again, she knew dwarves, and couldn't fault the woman her eagerness. All in all, it seemed a rather subdued, if eclectic mix of persons they had here.

Only one particularly stood out to her at this given moment, and that was the elf - She believed he had called himself by Vardo or something similar earlier in their trek. He was moving with distinct poise, and not just the kind one expected of elves. His eyes were scanning, astute and focused despite the early hour, and whenever they looked at something they did so with a razor-sharp intent she'd seen many a time - The kind of look that is gauging every movement and aspect of every person in the room. As Yohna had found, such a look was the only thing that both the noble courts and the poorest districts had in common. She didn't recognize him as nobility, though he may well have been such.

"Where are you headed, elf?" She called across, affixing him with a similar, analytical look. "If it's nothing personal, that is. Anywhere in particular?"

Falka's face split in a greedy grin as she spied the mugs and keg. With practiced grace - or what passes for grace among dwarves - she filled three mugs all in one hand. Sauntering happily, she brought the three sloshing ales back to the fireside. She thumps one down beside Harlo, given that his hands were full. The others she brings with her to a tree-stump beside the half-elf, sits down and offers him one.
"You look like you could do with something to wake you up, friend!" she beamed at him. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure yet, what with all this damnably grim weather. Name's Falka."

"Yes. yes. Ah, uh... I am looking for the thing... you know. It's like that night bird... whatsit... uhh.. Yes! owl is the word. Yes. yes. But, not an owl." The whole time he speak, Vallivoe gesticulates and shakes his hands wildly while sifting through scattered boxes filled with truly random collection of goods - old dusty books, several rolls of twine of different colors, ornate set of cutlery, several variations on miniature cuckoo clocks, etc. He doesn't seem to directly acknowledge the genasi. Without knowing exactly what he's looking for Breezy mimes helping Vallivoe look for it. In a few moments, Vallivoe exclaims, "Ah ha! There you are. How did you end up there?" as he digs up what looks like a gold-plated, intricate mechanical owl. Satisfied, he turns to Breezy - his eyes still affixed at the owl and says "Look at this beauty. You know, this here is gnomish craft... of the finest qua.. well, I suppose ol' Marty Nimblefingers could have made better. May that curmudgeon rest in peace... But, it's of sufficiently impressive craftmanship... Look at this." He points at the owl's feet. "Each of its claws move independently. Extremely delicate gearing that is... I can’t wait to take this apart!" He finally looks up and regards the genasi curiously - not, with guarded suspicion as Breezy was used to but, intense curiosity. At that moment Breezy wasn't sure which he preferred. "Your kind is rare in these parts.. and by "these parts" I mean our plane of existence. I wonder what brought you here... I see sadness in your eyes. It can't be a happy story... Well, I'm famished!" With that he hops off the wagon and walks gingerly towards the fire pit.

Midnight was tucked beneath a patchwork quilt that wasn't all that large, but only her forehead and a wild mess of hair poked out from beneath it. When she heard the camp stirring, she rolled over and opened her eyes to see what was happening. Seeing that there was breakfast, she sat up, stretched her arms above her head, and let out a big yawn. Then she set into her morning ritual:

She sat off to the side of her makeshift bed, placed her bag on her lap and took out a comb. She methodically brushed her hair, counting the strokes and wincing periodically as she pulled through the knots formed by her tossing. After precisely 87 strokes, she put the comb away and began to very neatly fold her quilt and place it in her bag. Once her bed was away, she drew out two books and began reading one. She mouthed the words silently, repeating each phrase ten times, keeping track on her fingers. Then she quickly scribbled a few lines in the other and tossed them both ingloriously into her bag and bounced over to the cookpot for breakfast.

"Good morning!" she beamed. "I could smell your wonderful stew all the way in my dream, Mr. Harlo. Yum yummy!" She reaches into one of the ruffles of her dress and pulls out a bowl, holding it out to him with a grin. After receiving her serving, she found a place to sit, and began watching the tall blue man with curiosity.

"Morning." Maegla apes mindlessly as she chews the end of her feathered quill. She doesn't take her eyes off the ledger. "May I help you with something?"

"Just looking for a quiet place to sit..." he winces as he hears one of the others bellow for him from across the camp.

Turning his head to face Yohna he forces a smile and calls back, "In life? Who knows. But for right now....here." He motions, indicating the area immediately around himself and Maegla. Smiling at the human, he fans out his palm in an inviting gesture in case she felt like joining him.

He then turns back to the keeper of the ledger. "I didn't mean to be the cause of disturbing your work. I can leave if I'm in the way."

"Yes, I, uh..." was all that Breezy managed to reply as the rapid-fire speech of the old man caught him slightly off guard. To those who noticed, for the first time in the trip, a glimmering of a smile crossed the Genasi's lips. With a nod to the fellow and his odd bird-thing, he told the back of the fellow's head "Happy to help."

Turning his eyes back to the sky, he seemed to glide more than walk back toward the group, finding a spot to sit where the smoke did not sting his eyes. Hearing the young priestess calling out to the fey one, he looked, likewise seeming (in a fleeting fashion) to be interested in someone else's story.

"Yummy issss relative, I sssssay." he mutters half to himself, digging into the now-cooling breakfast stew.

Keavan takes the proffered drink and returns the smile with one of his own.
"Name's Keavan, was a soldier. Hired sword and adventurer now I guess."

Keavan eyes Falka up and down.

"You look like a tough one, what say you and I watch each other's backs? It would be good to have a sister in arms again."

"Good morning ma'am! Beautiful day isn't it?" Harlo says as he pours generous portion of the stew to Midnight. As he does he remarks, "You know. You remind me of Andrea. That's my beloved daughter. She's always so cheerful and positive. I miss her so. I can't wait to be home. Long trips and I aren't compatible." . He guffaws. Realizing he just compared a grown gnome to a child, "Ah. I'm sorry I mean no offense by that. I sometimes say things without thinking." At this point his eyes meets hers, and his cheerful countenance changes for a moment to one with hint of fear. He coughs, lowers his head. "Anyway. I have to tend to the horses. Have a good meal." He somewhat hurriedly walks off to feed the horses.