“A true master of the sword need never use his sword at all.”

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.

The company of the Ravens was an orderly picture of controlled chaos. Haranguing and cajoling his people, Laes was able to get his caravan on the move. There was an air of tension, and not a little fear, at the sudden change of plans that seemed to be spurring the workers to greater haste, if not efficiency. I saw some people struggling with loading barrels onto a cart. I could have helped, but I decided it was not my place. I was slightly amused when my inaction caused a pair of workers to scowl at me.

Rumors of our departure had spread through the caravanserai, and the mysterious nature of it all had prompted other caravan masters to also make preparations to depart. Snatching up pieces of quickly-exchanged conversation here and there, I heard the rumor grow into an almost living thing, whose growth was further fueled by Laes refusing to give a reason for the early departure. Laes had heard of a lucrative opportunity to the east, the master had heard of a new bandit threat to the trade routes, or the Tides would soon be raising a new levy on departing caravans. All these and more only served to flame the ever-growing speculation to new heights.

Laes’ train consisted of large wagons pulled by the great Ankylosaur-like beasts that were later identified to me as ‘Xaruar,’ affectionately called ‘Ruar’ by their minders. Despite their somewhat fearsome appearance, they were actually rather docile and even-tempered beasts, and used to their duties. The wagons they pulled were of wooden construction, with lacquered black tiles for roofs. The purple that was painted on their slatted sides, rather than making the caravan look gaudy, actually gave the wagons an easily-recognizable sense of uniformity.

So entranced was I by all of this happening before me, that all I could do was watch the people doing the hundred and one things that were necessary for the long journey ahead. I had even forgotten to grill Larynda for more answers, or to consult Kidu on his opinion.

“Please, this way,” said a harried voice, cutting across the general clamor.

I shook my head, shedding my stupor, before taking in the owner of the voice - still a little wary of the whole setup. The caravan’s master seemed extremely stressed, the lines of his face pinched and taut beneath the veneer of calm that he tried to exude. He gestured for us to follow, and so my companions and I went with him.

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We worked our way through the controlled chaos, and it was only thanks to my Dexterity that I narrowly avoided dropping my new helm when I bumped into a large, thick-set man. Collecting the heavy burlap sacks he had dropped, he gave me a scowl, an expression I returned in kind. After half-a-moment, he realized that we were in the company of the caravan master and he went about his way, muttering under his breath.

Eventually, we reached our destination, one of the caravan’s wagons in the middle of the train. Laes searched for a moment in his fine clothes for a key, chuckling a bit at some private joke, before he climbed up the small wooden steps of the gate. There, he struggled with a simple lock that refused to turn at first.

Finally opening the door, he turned to us and politely announced, “Your accommodations for the Green Road, I hope that they will be to your liking.”

I sensed that there was a subtle difference in the way that he addressed me, a change in the tone of his voice. Was it due to the recent increase in Charisma, I wondered? Was the knotted silken red string that I had borne really of such importance? I had assumed it to be nothing more than a sort of bargaining chip or ticket in this world, and not some sort of tool to make sure a courier was suitably motivated to reach their destination. Also, by accident, or by design, Laes had yet to charge us his fee. Of course, I had no intention of reminding him.

Behind us, a plain, olive-skinned woman going to fat and clad in a dull brown cotton dress offered a greeting and bowed to us. A purple scarf was a slash of vivid color around her pudgy neck, and looking at her face as she rose from her bow, I noticed there was a large ugly black mole with hair growing out of it on the tip of her chin. Was the scarf merely another sign of bondage, or was it more in line with a company uniform? She smiled at Larynda and blushed a little under Kidu’s intense glare before offering to take Patches’ reins.

I held up a hand, commanding her to pause, and Kidu and I began to hurriedly remove the beast’s saddlebags. Laes and the woman waited patiently, in the quiet manner of servants everywhere. Politely, she coughed once we were finished to get our attention. This time round, I handed her the donkey’s reins and offered her my best smile. I was only slightly annoyed when I did not receive another notification for my efforts to improve my Charisma.

“We will take care of your donkey, good sir. If I may ask - what is her name? That our master of beasts may be able to call upon her,” the slave, drudge, or indentured servant asked of me.

“Patches. Be sure that she is well seen to, and thank you for your service,” I answered, adding the thanks as an afterthought.

She simply bowed once more to this and took Patches gently away. I saw her whisper a few words to the donkey, feeding my animal companion a small orange-colored fruit, which caused her to bray in bestial delight.

It would seem that the equine was in good hands.