Alistair

Eli peers back from the back of the caravan suspiciously. “Who are those people getting closer? There are a lot of them, and they’re armed.”

Alistair cracks his whip once more, the skin on the backs of his beast cracking under the pressure. “Don’t worry about it.” He smiles at Eli. They have pushed into the pass, and within the next hour should hopefully reach the valley, where they will be protected by the rest of the Dark Knights forces, and possibly some other adventurers who wish to join in.

The pilgrims draw slowly closer, and closer to our caravan, until they are close enough that I can make out the faces of the nearest pilgrims. But as they draw closer, we also draw closer to safety, as the hour draws to a close, we round a bend, and get our first peak at the valley below, we peak in between the stone walls, and emerge in a flat plateau not far from the encampment.

Milo

Milo walks through his small encampment. As the city lord his word is law, and his money is worth just as much as any other. So he put together a force of 50 or so adventures. He had hoped to gather more but… Well… He did what he could…

As well as his encampment of 50 or so adventures he also had a group of 3 or so necromancers with them, who volunteered to assist with the defence if it is brought to that point.

The necromancers weren't super high leveled but all together they had brought up about 50 more goblin skeletons. Each skeleton was only at about D ranked 3 give or take a level, but a body is a body. As well as the skeletons they also had some weird amalgam of a wolf, and a human, I didn't bother to ask where they got the human corpse from. But it was C-1 and was on par with a couple of the stronger men, and women on the field.

Luther, and the gang also offered to come along, so Luther sits on a horse at the forefront of the group, and the others in the party are within the ranks of unruly adventurers. To call them ranks is a lie as they are closer to just a mob of people.

I walk beside Luther, and raise my spyglass to an eye, and peer off to the pass. I first watch as two tremendous carts pulled by undead abominations, as well as a couple of flesh golems flee through the gap.

I watch as the undead abominations pull the gargantuan carts down the hill, and begin to approach. Almost immediately as they descend the hill the pilgrims emerge from the gap. The carts quickly reach the bottom of the hill, and when they do the pilgrims begin to gain on them.

I wave my hand forward in panic. “March! Assist the people in those carts!”

Luther leans down. “I'm going to go ahead of you guys to see if we can calm this down before it devolves into combat, because if that happens, the church is going to send templars, or battle pilgrims.”

I nod solemnly. “Thank you Luther.”

He waves his hand, as he rides off, his cloak catching the wind like a sail but being caught, and pulled down by whatever he has in his pockets.

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Our adventurer soldiers step forward, and begin to shamble like a mob of zombies in the general direction of the plague pilgrims, our ranks supplemented by skeletons.

Alistair

Alistair smirks in joy as he sees friendly faces approaching them with an armed force. He turns to Eli.

“Eli, you take the carts the rest of the way, I'm going to stay behind and help fight, if necessary.”

Eli begins to speak but thinks better of it, and simply nods. “Yes.”

Alistair jumps from the back of the cart as they pass by the adventurers rambling forward. He joins at the back of the mob with friendly necromancers. He smiles, and greets them.

Alistair is followed by his two flesh golems but the rest of his abominations continue to pull the carts back towards the encampment.

Milo

Milo steps forward. Luther sits upon his horse, bow in hand, barring their path.

At the sight of the opponents reaching them, a man wrapped in cloth steps forward. He wears simple working clothes, rough pants, and a farmers shirt. Under his clothing his entire body is wrapped in thin cloth similar to a mummy. The same as every other pilgrim. The cloth is soaked in herbs, strong spirits, or opioids in an attempt to dull the pain from their various ailments, or in an attempt to contain their diseases.

He steps forward, and unwraps his face. He peels it off layer by layer, revealing his head, bald, and covered in rashes. His face is covered in pustules, and cysts. His lips are red, and bloated, the skin sloughing off to reveal the pink flesh below. His face is something out of a child's nightmares. Pus drips down his left cheek but he wipes it away.

He reaches into his pocket, and removes a bottle of alcohol. He tips the bottle backward, and the scent of strong Bourbon fills the air. He pours only a small amount into his mouth, but the rest is poured on his face, mixing with the various open wounds, and cysts. He rubs it in, and then, with a rag he wipes it away.

He sighs, and coughs. “Why have we been met with force?”

I step forward tentatively. “I received the message from priest Auschwits. But… I am afraid that we have a contract with, and a semi-large presence of necromancers here. So we cannot allow you to enter unless you swear not to harm these necromancers.”

The man sighs, and draws his sword, its blade, rusted to near death, but despite it all, it is tainted with the blood of daemons, demons, undead, and worst of all, the humans who raised, or summoned said creatures.

He runs his hand over the blade, and sighs. “I am simply a plague prophet. I do not have the authority to negotiate with you for our church. If, or when our envoy arrives to install a church, they could negotiate, but I am simply unable to negotiate with you.”

I sigh, and shrug. “Then leave…”

The man sighs. “We will camp here until the envoy arrives, and they will negotiate.”

I nod at the agreeable enough compromise.

At this moment Alistair pushes his way through the mob, and arrives at Milos' side. “Are we fighting?” He asks, confused.

I shake my head. “They will camp here until an envoy arrives to negotiate with.”

Alistair glares at the prophet. “Why don't I post up some guards so that they don't get down to any funny business. Such as trying to spread their variety of plagues to your people.”

The prophet glares at him. “It was an accident.”

Alistair's glare goes wider. “An accident that killed thousands innocent people!”

The prophet swallows once, and spits on the ground. “Whatever. We are laying our encampment.”

I nod hesitantly. “Sure. Alistair go ahead, and set up those guards, but don't attack them.”

Alistair smiles, and nods.