It was a warm spring afternoon as a caravan of merchants worked their horses down the road. The journey from Baldur's Gate had been a long one down the southern end of the Sword Coast.
A harried old gentleman sat at the front of the moving caravan. He was their elected leader for this trip and he was hoping to reach home soon. The nights spent on the road were easier now that they were finally in the grasslands. This countryside had been his home for many seasons and it always brought a smile to see a familiar tree or boulder on the side of the road. Trees and large boulders dotted the landscape in front of him. He was eager for more familiar sights as he cast his gaze back to the line he was leading. His eyes lingering on a particular group. He shook his head.
Among the adventurer’s he’s seen in his travels, in all his years. This… team. Was the most farfetched he had ever laid his eyes upon. He had picked them up as a last-minute contract out of Baldur’s Gate. It seemed like they only had a smattering of combat experience between them, so he got a good price for the extra help on the road. If anything, the tall, dark eyed man seemed to have the strength of a monster made human.
It was made obvious after the man had lifted a boulder the size of an oxen and casually hurled it out of the path of the wagons. All the men behind him gawked at his strength. The tan skinned man was sun kissed and dressed simply, his attire was made for movement. A solid piece of chainmail was laid upon his shoulders and waist. The links were dull, and some were tarnished. At his back was a three-pronged spear with a wooden haft and a great double-edged axe. On his side was a small hand axe and what appeared to be a folded net, easily within reach. The man was well armed and impressively so. He wore no helm and his head was shaven.
The gentleman felt comfortable with this man, it was his other companions whom the rest of the caravan gave looks to.
It was at this moment when one of them spoke to him.
“Worry not good employer!” A voice spoke to him from close to the ground. The voice carried across his ears with confidence and certainty.
Looking down he gazed into the soft brown eyes of a dog. Well… If a dog were to be seen standing on two legs like a man.
“I am not worried.” Said the gentleman with a strained smile. “It has only been a long time since I’ve seen home, and I cannot await to be asleep in my own bed and not in a ditch.”
Of course, he was stretching the truth, being the chosen leader of this caravan affronted him certain privileges. Like sleeping in the back of a wagon as opposed to the ground.
The small animal nodded to him while easily keeping pace with the wagon. After being in company for a week, the gentleman finally asked the question he, and the rest of the teams have been wondering all this time.
“Sir, Fluffington.” He fumbled with his words a bit. It was a bit awkward to address the dog as so without a smile. “What land did you say you hailed from again?”
A pair of eyes sparkled with remembrance, “I hail from the Corgish Faewilds, my most honorable employer.” Spoke Sir Fluffington. “My most notable family has served our goddess, Titania, for countless generations. Through acts of valor and honor, my brothers and sisters set out to be a beacon for the people and draw their attention to our goddess for she protects and provides for all in her grace.”
“Ah…” The gentleman remarked quietly.
Among the beasts and men that dotted the landscape of the Sword Coast. It was known to all that the Faewilds existed and many magical beings call it home. It was also rumored that it was nigh impossible to find without someone native to their lands.
The corgi’s infectious smile bloomed on his small face.
“Fear not noble employer, for we are few but strong and we’ll ensure your safety to Greenest.”
Giving Sir Fluffington a polite nod, he then looked at the last one in their team. Hanging far back and off to the side of the road, walked one of the Lizard Folk.
Sticking out in sharp contrast to the surrounding land. A red Lizardman with orange spots walked in the grass, never the road, his spear doubling as a staff. Green hide and leathers were strapped to his person forming his armor. He also carried what appeared to be a large bone club on his side. Blue bands of color wrapped around his wrists while the frills around his neck swayed with the wind. However, what was unnerving, were his eyes. Even from this distance the gentleman could see his eyes moving in separate directions. Always looking and scanning his surroundings.
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Thinking about it would only give the man a headache. “Sir Fluffington.” he called out. “This will be the last night we camp on these plains, let me pass along a good word to my cousin who runs the inn at Greenest and tomorrow you’ll eat like a king.”
A soft rush of grass was now disturbed by an eager tail.
“Everyone!” the gentleman’s voice carried over the horses and wagons. “Time to break camp, out with the rest of the rations and eat your fill. I don’t want to carry anymore home than I have to.” he called out, as a small chorus of joy rippled down the line.
Sir Fluffington turned from the lead wagon and began to walk back down the line. His destination was the mountain of a man he was teamed up with, along with the Red Lizardman who already waiting.
The group knew what was expected of them. They began to break soil, erect tents and help where extra hands were needed.
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Dawn arrived and with it, a small stirring of people. Most of the camp were lethargic and lazy from the nights feast. A full belly with a warm bed made everyone slow to start spite the warm sun beginning to beat down on them.
The large man, with his great axe in hand, was already up and exercising. Swinging the massive blade in slow, controlled arcs. Most of the caravanner’s were used to this by now. They had seen him every morning, awake before anyone else. He was silent except the soft shuffle of his feet as he moved.
The Woodsman Chop, he brought the axe across his side with slow deliberate movements. Guillotine Cut, an overhead attack that focused power and emphasized one's strength. Finally, the Rising Star. A strong recovery from the Guillotine Cut, bringing the weapon back up in front of him. With his gaze still forward the man spoke.
“Unless you intend to join me, leave.” he spoke with a firm and steady voice. Obviously in contrast to his straining muscles as he slowly began to repeat his forms.
A reptilian voice responded “Retiarius, I am not your equal in combat. I wish” he paused. “...to merely observe.”
Retiarius paused and turned to the speaker.
“I’ve seen you fight Tec, but you will be no-man’s equal if you do not practice.”
Tec merely shrugged as he brought out a hand full of seed pods from his belt.
“It is only one aspect of life and besides.” he paused “You are right that I am no man.” Tec began to move his claws over the pods and one by one they began to open. Plucking a single seed from the pod, Tec looked at the seed in his two claws and muttered to it [Good Berry]. Soon began to glow a faint crimson before returning to its seedly appearance.
“Obviously.” Retiarius responded flatly.
Tec then threw the seed at Retiarius, He caught it effortlessly with one hand before Tec turned away from him. “Now that breakfast is done...” He trailed off as he walked away.
Looking at the seed in his hand, Retiarius paused before popping it in his mouth.
You have recovered 2HP
You are now Full and do not require additional sustenance for the next 12 hours.
Retiarius didn't smile.
He turned back to his weapon and picked up where he left off, swinging his great axe with focused precision.
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Sir Fluffington woke when the sun broke the early horizon. A small seed was already laying in front of his muzzle when it quickly it vanished into his mouth. It smelled of flowers and tasted like magic. Not that he could describe what magic tasted like.
After taking care of the required necessities of the morning, he gathered his gear and donned his armor. A set of custom chainmail armor tailored to his stumpy form. A Traditional Warhammer almost as tall as himself, laid up ended, standing with the handle straight up. A shield covered most of his back, covering his travel pack and lastly, a small knife protruded from his belt.
His tail was wagging.
“Today is going to be the bestest of days!” he cheerfully remarked as he looked out across the still asleep camp.
They had been protecting this caravan for just over a week now and soon the job would come to an end.
“My goddess, Titania.” The corgi spoke, “Please let this one bring you honor and glory again this day.” He was rubbing his paws across his chest, tracing the symbol of his goddess.
Your prayers have been answered.
All spells have been restored for the next 24 hours.
You have the favor of goddess Titania.
A smile split Sir Fluffington’s face, “I’m a good boy.” he beamed.
He then proceeded to trot over to where Retiarius was. He knew the big man would be exercising as usual. However, a breeze crossed his path and he stopped. Sir Fluffington cast his gaze around the camp once again, brown eyes searching. The wind had brought him a mix of different smells and scents.
Leather, metal, sweat…. men, women and monsters.
But they were not here. The wind had come from the east. Almost as if it was expelled from the now rising sun.
Sir Fluffington whispered another quiet prayer to his goddess for protection and fortune before moving again. He was going to train with that monster of a man. He wanted to be ready for anything today. They were not done yet and it was said that most disasters happen within a troll’s fart from home.