The Road to Saltmarsh

[Man in Black]

The call has gone out, far and wide, for adventurers to seek their fortune.  While the roads in the area have become more secure with frequent patrols, there are still groups of bandits, pirates, and other miscreants working the area.  Saltmarsh is said to be the next big port city.  The opportunity for cheap land and quick coin draws many to the small town.  Whatever sent you here, you've tagged along with a caravan bound for Saltmarsh.  There are many excited young adventurers in the group, eager to boast of their coming deeds and form new partnerships.

(This is your basic meet and greet to get the group together.)

[Rasc C'wningen]

Rasc sat on the back of one of the wagons as they traveled down the road. He was dressed for the road instead of his fine set of clothing, well it was still looking good clothes, not his work clothes. Those were darker, and honestly for more night time activities. Although if asked he would always claim it was for scouting. He preferred lovely vests, with shinny buttons, but he always had a few daggers stashed away for 'emergencies'. He was playing a traveling tune lightly on his fiddle mostly to pass the time as travel was usually boring, but honestly it like it boring better than when it wasn't boring. Non-boring meant bandits, monsters, or worse... guard patrols. Still he was wearing his leather armor, with his rapier at his side. His work tools were always hidden on him. He kept his big brown eyes open looking out for any danger, or opportunities. His white fur was combed, and styled so he looked like an individual that enjoyed the finer things. Rasc found that when pretending to be a bard it helped to look the part of a pampered one, people thought you were nobility or at least worked for nobles if you look well dressed, also he liked being clean as opposed to dirty. Of course dirty was fine if you were paid for it.

[Kezi]

A half-orc woman, easily mistaken for one of the caravan guards, walked alongside the caravan. The most obvious detail was her pronounced limp, as if her left leg had been injured somehow. She didn't wear shoes. Instead, there were dirt-caked bandages from her ankles, up to cover the bottom hems of her pants, cause them to balloon outward slightly (a trick often used in areas where ticks were frequent, to keep them from crawling up your pant legs). Her clothes were simple, unadorned and very dirty. There was a leather string around her neck, disappearing into the neck of her shirt. It's weight hinted at some trinket she had hidden there. Those within the caravan of any means mostly avoided her shadow, for she smelled as if she had spent a long day digging under the hot sun; the smell of soil and sweat.

She had chosen to wear her leather armor over her shirt, and it made her look a tiny bit more presentable. It was not covered in dirt (not that it was clean), though it did have a couple small blood splatters. A mace hung from a leather belt frog at her right hip, and a shield was strapped to her left arm. But she seemed more lanky than the average caravan guard, her limbs long, but lean.

Her things were on one of the wagons. A typical adventurer's pack, from the looks of it, except for the well-used shovel tied to it.

Taller, even, than some of the humans in the caravan (5'9"), her eyes kept watch, first forward, then behind. Watchful for bandits, she felt less ready for this trip than she'd like, though her gaze wouldn't betray it. In truth, it wasn't the call of adventure that brought her to the Saltmarsh. It was the need for a gravedigger. Her last job had her sleeping in a mausoleum, and she hoped to upgrade to a shack, at least, with... dare she think it? A bed!

[Galwyn]

The young human man walked alongside the caravan guard as well. He was moderately protected in his well made and maintained armour, but it didn't seem to have seen much use. A wooden shield was strapped to his back while an unusual weapon hung at his side. It consisted of a short wooden handle which had a steel chain embedded in one end which was attached to a metal ball with spikes protruding all over its surface. It swung with him as he walked down the road.

His face was young and full of optimism, like so many other would be adventurers in this caravan. He picked up his pace slightly to walk side by side with Kezi, the half orc.

"How far to Saltmarsh do you know?" he asked, smiling to help broach some conversation, "These folk are past due aid in their troubles from what I hear."

[Kezi]

She looked at Galwyn thoughtfully, seeming to take his measure for a moment. Then, she looks upward, mentally calculating how the sun's passage intersected with their own.

"I would estimate another day and a half... Give or take a couple hours." She pointed one long finger up the road. "This road is elevated enough that we will stay dry, since there wasn't flooding, this past season. That will help speed our steps."

[Galwyn]

The man, barely more than a boy, nodded along with the half-orc's assessment of their remaining travel time.

"Good, good. I'm Galwyn by the way." he stuck his hand out for a friendly handshake.

"Have you travelled this way before?"

[Kezi]

Kezi pulled away from the offered hand a little, looking at it like it might be a snake. Then her eyes met Galwyn's, and she took his hand.

"I am Kezi."

Her nails were cracked and broke, with dirt under them. She looked slightly older than him, but it was sometimes difficult to tell with half-orcs because they age faster than humans. She let go of his hand.

"I've never made this journey, but my mentor helped me prepare. Marshes and swamps come with their own challenges, foot-rot being a common one. Ensure, if wearing shoes, that your feet are dry in them. Barefoot is better, provided that you have no wounds."

[Garrett Voltaire]

A well-groomed yet unassuming young lad sat in a corner of the wagon, scribbling furiously into a thick book as a bored-looking brown owl sat perched on his shoulder. He would occasionally pause his writing to look around very studiously at his surroundings and listen in on some conversations before diving nose-first back into the tome. He was dressed in simple, elegant robes, but didn't seem particularly bothered by the dust and wood splinters rapidly accumulating on his person. This was Garrett Voltaire, a novice wizard and student from the University of Magical arts. This was a semester focused on field work, so he was to go out into the world and accumulate some practical experience. Going on an adventure and helping some townsfolk with their problems seemed like a great way to combine some real world experience and community service together in one go.

[Rasc C'wningen]

Rasc continues to play softly on his fiddle as he watches the young bookish man scribbling in his book, although mostly he watched the owl. Owls, weren't typically friendly to him, and his kin in his remembrance of such things. He watched the two caravan guards chatting, one was ... well she looked like she had lost a lot of money, or was just very poor. The other was a human, observed him as well he looked like he came from some good breeding, but then many humans had that bearing about them. As he played softly he considered the scribe in the cart with him though.  The small haregon was only three foot and a half, so he wasn't usually quick to speak up to strangers, well unless they were marks, or something. "First time out of the city?" He finally offered as way as a conversation starter to Garrett.

[Garrett Voltaire]

Garrett looked up from his scribing and broke into a wide smile when he laid eyes on Rasc. Hello there! Oh neat, you're a rabbit-kin aren't you? What a fortuitous meeting! I've never encountered one of your people outside of a tome illustration before. The young man started drawing something in his book as he continued talking. It's not my first time out of the city, but it is my first foray into Saltmarsh and its surroundings. After a few more minutes, Garrett put down his quill and showed Rasc a rough yet fairly accurate sketch of the harengon, alongside today's date, before closing the book up with a solid thwump. Oh where are my manners? Garrett Voltaire, apprentice mage, at your service. The owl acknowledged the rabbit with a slight nod of its head, then went back to gazing stoically at its surroundings.