"Alright, we're moving out!"

As soon as the guard gave order the carts lurched into motion, Vitoria rushing to stay close to the wagon her brother was in. For a minute she just walked like that, keeping pace with the wagon and listening to what was going on around her. After a few seconds however, she heard some kind of exclamation from not too far away, as someone hissed something that she couldn't make out.

She went towards the sound for a moment, getting there in time to see a boy around her age pushing himself off of the ground and rushing over to speak to someone else. He looked pretty beat up, and as she watched she noticed him stumble. Acting almost completely on instinct Vitoria walked up to the boy and the girl he had started to walk beside.

She waited until they had noticed her before speaking, so she wouldn't startle them. "Excuse me sir, are you ok? I noticed you fall earlier, and then stumble again just now... should you be walking?" She spoke kindly, just as she would to any patient. Looking at the boy's face now, she saw that he was pretty beat up. He wore an eyepatch, and had quite a few scars for someone his age.

Vitoria felt a pang of sympathy for this boy. Who knew what kind of life he's had so far, that he would be burdened so at such a young age. Hopefully that would change with the evacuation. Whenever they finally reached sanctuary, he would be able to restart, to lead a much better life away from Edessa. "I'm sure there's a space for you in one of the wagons if you need it."

Gabby was pleased with herself as she walked away from the wagon. She'd managed - and she'd managed this without lying, giving anything in return or even making a promise of any kind - to squeeze a debt out of what may or may not have been a dangerous sort. Offering a small piece of advice had cost her nothing, so even if she got nothing out of their chat, well... She wasn't going to lose anything for the effort. There was also the chance - and Gabby's gut felt it was the case - that this unhappy fellow took his debts very seriously, which would make the deal all the sweeter.

Things were looking good, indeed. Only a few minutes into the caravan's trip and Gabby had weaseled a small benefit for herself. The best part: she wasn't going to have to associate with the scarred hooligan until she needed him! It would probably take him a few minutes to work up proper courage to slip down from the back of that wagon, shaky as he was, and by then she'd be long -

"Thank you," said the scarred hooligan between intermittent panting.

Or you can be wrong, Gabby.

"Askeladden. You can call me Askeladd, Ash, or Ladd for short. Others do. Easier that way." Gabby found herself annoyed by the stowaway's manner of speech. It was broken, like he was afraid to speak sentences longer than a few words. "Thought you'd want to know since I'm in your debt now." At least he was taking the debt seriously, so Gabby's instincts weren't totally off.

"Well, that's grand, truly," Gabby mumbled, noticing the boy darting glances about the caravan, as if expecting someone in the crowd to sprout a wolf's head and leap at him like an animal. While that was highly unlikely, there probably were a few Welds among the beggars, so Gabby supposed it wasn't completely ill-advised. "But you need to compose yourself. If we were on a city street, I'd be grabbing my coinpurse with one hand and clutching a dagger in the other."

Gabby paused. She already was hovering her hand over her coinpurse and fingering her weapon. Well, flog me, she thought as she forced her hand away from her weapon.

"Just take a deep breath, relax, and get someone to look at those bandages of yours. They look nasty. Oh, and don't bother me so much," she added none-too-politely. "Especially if I'm working with my tools, don't bother me. My work concerns very delicate materials with potentially explosive or toxic consequences. You know, volatile stuff. I guess you're allowed so long as I'm not busying myself with something.

"Oh, and tell whomsoever thinks your name is hard to pronounce, Askeladden, that they're a slackjawed malcontent and should learn to speak with their mouth, not from between their buttocks." The short mage smirked one of those so-very-clever smirks of hers. She enjoyed hearing herself speak; even she had to admit it. She didn't consider it a fault, though, not with a tongue so quick and verbose, no. "I swear, you throw two syllables at anyone in this backwater realm and suddenly everything is complex." Waving her hand dismissively and making a "pbbt" noise out of the corner of her mouth, the mage completely forgot, for a few short moments, who she was speaking to and why she wanted to avoid them... for a few short moments.

Stellar performance, Gabby. They won't peg you for a Varyan at all with remarks like that; no, certainly not. It's not like you just insulted Edessa and its inhabitants.

Gabby frowned. She glanced over at this Askeladden fellow, her brain racing to find something distracting to say. "Gabriella!" she said, perhaps a bit too loudly. "My name. Gabriella. Call me Gabby if you're lazy."

It was about then that Gabby heard traveling shoes crunching into the road, and she couldn't help but pray inwardly that nobody had overheard her verbal jab at Edessans. She expected to see another bearded soldierly sort when she turned, but as she turned she found herself looking at a concerned young woman clad in pretty-but-serviceable traveling clothes. Most importantly: she seemed way more interested in the boy next to Gabby rather than in Gabby herself, so that was a relief.

"Excuse me, sir," the girl began, and Gabby couldn't help but crack a grin at the 'sir.' The next few words were drowned out in Gabby's head as she thanked whoever happened to be listening in the heavens for the stroke of luck.

"I'm sure there's a space for you in one of the wagons," the girl finished as Gabby came to her senses, giving the eyepatch-wearing lad a warm look. Gabby just burst out laughing.

"Irony!" Gabby gasped between snorts, not bothering to elaborate on what she meant. She cast a wary look around her, trying to find those guards on horseback. "We, uh... should probably walk a bit faster and pipe down a mite bit. We're bound to attract the attention of those sword-shaking hawks if we don't."

He shirked away from her reaction to his little introduction, one of her hands shifting to her side. He nearly lurched forward at her on impulse, having to force himself to stop. As strange as she is, she's probably not going to try to kill you, he reminded himself, still unable to shake the unease that rose in him. He did his best to hide how agitated he had just been, swinging his arms just a little bit looser, removing his eyes from the back of her head before they bore a hole in it. "But you need to compose yourself. If we were on a city street, I'd be grabbing my coinpurse with one hand and clutching a dagger in the other."

Compose? Sounds like when she said to stop being a mess. He made a note to himself to ask her what that word meant later.

She visibly backed away from her weapon and Askeladden eased along with her, unclenching his left fist which was all knotted up in a fist. He hadn't even realised he was this... tense.

"Just take a deep breath, relax, and get someone to look at those bandages of yours. They look nasty. Oh, and don't bother me so much," she said to him. He nodded politely, beginning to understand their relationship. She certainly liked to talk. Not that he minded. He was more willing than most to listen to a story or much of any talking at all. Anything that would help him catch a few new words. "Especially if I'm working with my tools, don't bother me. My work concerns very delicate materials with potentially explosive or toxic consequences. You know, volatile stuff. I guess you're allowed so long as I'm not busying myself with something." She went on, now catching his interest. Volatile sounds dangerous. He was good at handling dangerous things. It got people to like him and more importantly, he might be able to get out of this favour with her if he lent a hand.

"Oh, and tell whomsoever thinks your name is hard to pronounce, Askeladden, that they're a slackjawed malcontent and should learn to speak with their mouth, not from between their buttocks." She continued on, unabated by the length of time she's been speaking or the lack of verbal response on Askeladden's end. He simply nodded along to her string of high-strung words, trying to make note of what she was saying. He already had a handful of words he wanted to ask her about, especially volatile and malcontent. The sound of the "l" was one of his favourite sounds. She seemed mostly displeased with the locals, seeing as the only thing she had to say about them were that they were slackjawed and that the area itself was backwater. Well, that would explain the way you talk. You're definitely not around here. Not many people talked as, well, well as she did and Askeladden knew the difference between the way she spoke and the way most people spoke. She was educated, more so than anyone he could remember off the top of his head. If she taught me how to read and write, she could take a dozen favours more.

She glanced over and shrieked something that nearly made him jump out of his skin. "Gabriella! My name. Gabriella. Call me Gabby if you're lazy." Askeladden tried to sound out her name in his head, it flowing like molasses as his tongue did oral gymnastics to sound it out. Grabella, Gabrella, Gabr- he frowned, wanting to use the alternative, but not at the cost of looking lazy. "I'm happy to meet you, Gabälla" he tried, the center part of her name coming out like "ae" instead of "rie". It sounded right to Askeladden though.

Mostly right.

A voice came from behind, that even with its gentle and soft manner, nearly made the former slave jump into the air like a startled cat. Sneaking up on him was much like spooking a sleeping dog. You'd be lucky to end up with a scar as minor as the one dead center across his face, which was from a very awake dog. "Excuse me, sir," the girl began, Gabälla to grin like it was some big joke. If it weren't for the short one's standoffish manner, he'd have suspected the two of them be up to something. Being called sir, in and of itself was a first however. He squinted and rose an eyebrow, the corner of his lip twitching.

He concluded he probably didn't like being called that.

"I'm sure there's a space for you in one of the wagons," the girl offered, Askeladden looking back at Gabälla who was having a grand time. He returned his eyes to the young woman, who looked just a touch younger than Gabälla and stood well above her. Huh. Odd. He nodded to her suggestion and looked back at the grouch, "Blame her if the guards find me." He glanced back at the girl before sloughing back to the wagon where he was originally hiding out and hoisted himself into the back, dropping onto his ragged cloak. Girl looked like she was crying. Maybe Gabälla will cheer her up.

He quietly went to work on himself, peeling off his boots which stuck to him like a second layer of skin before taking a crack at the bandages. They were wrapped around his feet going from his toes to just above his ankles. First job was picking off the dried blood that made the bandages stick together like freshly laid stone. Peeling the bandages was the worst part, the raw skin burning like a white-hot poker, worse so where the bandages were dug into open sores. He swung his feet over the side of the wagon and fished out the whiskey bottle from his potato-sack turned backpack and pulled the cork with his teeth. He poured the whiskey over his feet and dug his teeth into the cork. Sorry to everyone that has to see them, he grimaced, the wind particularly sharp against his drying feet that were on display for the world.

"Well, they're about as pretty as my face." He said, as if that would make him feel better about doing this. It had the opposite effect.

"Few refugees walk with such confidence and a blade strapped to their hip."

Corra’s grin widened as the young man responded to her.

“That so?” she asked, looking down at herself in assessment as if the boy’s words surprised her. “I’m not but a poor city girl, really,” she said, her face the picture of honesty and innocence, excepting the twinkle in her eyes. “And walking with confidence is useful when you’re in the city streets. Otherwise, you might look like an easy target for thieves and robbers and the like,” she continued as the grin on her face became slightly more like a smirk. Corra personally knew most of the prominent thieves and robbers in the city, being one herself. They were probably the one thing in Arrvern she hadn’t had to worry about. Almost no one would randomly go after a fellow rogue in the streets. Honor among thieves, she supposed. She rather conveniently did not comment on the dagger at her hip, though her fingers had gone to hover over the pommel of the blade as he mentioned it, out of habit more than anything else.

Striking up a conversation had been a good idea she thought. She was already beginning to feel more like herself, and the more practical side of her noted that it would be good to make some new acquaintances in this little group. It never hurt to have some friends around you, especially in an unknown place.

Looking up at the boy astride his horse was beginning to give her a crick in her neck, and so she brought her gaze downwards, looking instead at the road ahead. Her eyes quickly skated over the landscape in front of them, trying to take in every detail in just a moment. They were still close enough to the city that she was not yet in unfamiliar territory, but that did not stop the girl from being slightly paranoid about her surroundings.

She glanced back at the boy, a small smile still in place. Corra was often smiling when she was around others, her expression light and inviting. If the smiles dropped away once she was alone, well that was something she kept to herself.

“I’m Corra, by the way,” she said. “Corra Valerrus. And you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “What’s your story? What brings you to this little caravan of misfits?”

He’s probably some kind of lordling, she thought to herself. That would explain the armor and the horse. She was curious to hear what he would say however. Corra almost always enjoyed hearing someone’s story, even if they lied.

"I'm afraid my story isn't very..."

She trailed off, not wanting to admit that her life minus her royal activities had been boring. Upon receiving the question, Elya felt embarrassment more than anything. Her titles were impressive, but they had also been constraints- she had never gone far from her home, the capitol. To tell this farmboy that he was more worldly than a princess would be humiliating, and humanizing, and so, Elya opted for a lie instead. A half-lie, really. Rather than simply speaking her own boring life, she told her mother's story, which to her was far more interesting. For some odd reason, Elya felt she needed to impress the lot, even though there was no present need for her to do so. Loosening her grip on the reins, a broad smile came to her face, as she thought of her mother. In her mind's eye, she saw the pin in the semblance of a sword her mother wore at her breast, the rose-colored wine she drank each evening, the small garden she kept in the balcony outside of her chambers. Elya wondered where the woman was.

"Alright. I was born in a western area of Edessa, actually. Mihtmód, you know, where the Lord Bryne and his family reside. My parents were both gardeners, working in their household. When I was seven, my elder brother was taken to the capitol, to find work. I begged my parents to let me follow, and when I was twelve or so, my mother and I finally journeyed to Arrvern. I lived with my brother for a year, before I was old enough to- to work. I then moved into the castle, and I've worked for the last few years as a scullery maid."

Elya coughed, and shook her head. A silly thought crossed her mind, which quickly turned dismal. The rose garden, back at the castle, with its varied colors and worms in the dirt, would no doubt wilt and die without anyone to tend to the flowers. The gardeners had all left at least a week ago, and her mother as well. None of the few who remained would pay much heed to dying flora. The garden outside of the castle walls would flourish without the trimmings once a week, if only with weeds, unless it was trampled. Though she loved her mother's garden, Elya never quite had any skill as a gardener. That hereditary trait seemed not to have passed down to the princess, as any plant she tended to died within a week, due to her lack of consistent care for any life other than her horses. Maintaining such a vast beauty was as difficult as maintaining a smile on Elya's face, yet she carefully kept up the corners of her mouth, trying not to show her sadness. The road ahead would no doubt show new plants, new pretty things for her to consider.

Glancing at the earth below, she wondered if the north was a hospitable place for roses, if the land was fertile enough to grow a garden. There was no doubt in her mind her mother would go mad without one. Elya looked back over at Dalsarad, and her shoulders sagged. Carefully, she planned her next question in such a way that it could not be reflected back to her, as she did not wish to be forced to weave a tale too complex to remember.

"Are you planning on becoming a farmhand, then, once we reach the north? Or are you going to pursue something else? Is the earth there very hospitable towards the crops you've tended to here? Sorry if I seem ignorant, I am unaware of the customs of farmers."

Despite her disinterest in the affairs of commoners as a whole, as coopers and butchers and stonemasons all seemed the same in Elya's eyes, the stories and lives of individuals did intrigue her. Now that she could speak to them as an equal, she realized they might feel more open to revealing themselves. Her eyes were focused on his mouth, wondering why anyone would chew on a weed. There was some plant grown in the lower parts of the city that the men chewed on for fun, but such things were banned within the castle walls, and they usually smelled bad as well. There were diseases on such things, which led to ungodly hallucinations, the thought of which made Elya rather uncomfortable.

"Is that grass you're chewing a custom of yours as well, or is that just a personal habit?"

Even if the man was strange, and his practices foreign, Elya aimed to befriend him. Anyone, in fact, on this caravan, might be an important ally in the weeks to come, against whatever odds they might face. The months, maybe, should the gods bring down awful weather upon them.

Emil frowned as the girl offered him a response. He had a sinking feeling that there was more than meets the eye when it came to this girl, but her expression was honest and her reasoning was sound- if slightly flawed. Emil couldn't help but reluctantly admit to himself that maybe this girl was indeed just a city girl going about her business, even if she did go about her business with a blade. (Dat persuasion skill at work...)

The conversation carried on for the most part pleasantly, and the company drew Emil away from his somber moping and thoughts about his brother and family. Especially in a time such as now, friendships and bonds would keep the few of them sane, and at the very least, being cordial with one another would help prevent conflict between one another as time went on. As much as the grumpy looking guards in front of them wanted them to focus and concentrate, it would likely be inevitable before the group of youths and children opened conversation with each other, even the guards could be considered hypocritical as they were already making small talk with one another. It was doubtful that there was much danger in the immediate area anyway- the vast majority of any sort of armed force was converging on the Castle-City behind them.

Still, they had to remain somewhat vigilant. It didn't appear that many of them were proficient with weapons, Emil wagered that only himself and the guards had any sort of military and martial training at all. Not that Emil would consider himself a hardened warrior- he had yet to experience a taste of real battle.

The city-girl introduced herself Corra Valerrus, which was as Emil had predicted, not a name he recognized. Whoever this girl was, she was definitely not of a noble birth. This wasn't a particularly new concept to Emil, as a squire he often times rubbed elbows with people from all statuses of life. While the Erran family was well known throughout the city for their military history, they weren't a sheltered family like a lot of noble lineages.

"I'm Emil." he replied, "Emil Erran. I'm a knight." He said with some pride.

"Or... I should be." he admitted sheepishly. "The royal family decided not to knight me- which is why I'm on this caravan going north. Otherwise, I guess I'd be on the wall with my brothers right now getting riddled with Varyan arrows." Emil said, his voice soft, his mind almost in another place. On the one hand, Emil feared for his life like any other person did, and the wall would've likely been his death sentence. At the same time, he felt guilty leaving his brothers and family behind while he fled north.

"What about you, 'ordinary-city-girl'? What did you do before coming here? And don't tell me you were a merchant's assistant or a baker's girl." he added with a small laugh.

Vitoria was startled when the girl standing next to the boy she had been speaking to suddenly burst into laughter. She said something as she was laughing, but Vitoria couldn't quite make out what before the boy spoke. "Blame her if the guards find me." He was looking at the laughing girl, so that's who Vitoria assumed he ment, but he walked off and climbed into a wagon before she could ask what he meant by it. If the guards find him? Does he think he'll get in trouble for being here for some reason?

The girl had managed to stop laughing and said something that pulled Vitoria from her thoughts. "Sword-shaking hawks? Do you mean the guards? Why would they care about some chatting along the way, this is going to be a long journey." Vitoria smiled and continued. "Besides, if they try to get me for anything I'll just tell them I'm doing my job, that's why I came over here in the first place. I'm genuinely worried about that boy's health. He didn't look too good, stumbling around like that."

Vitoria was silent for a moment, wondering if she should go talk to the boy or stay and continue speaking to the girl. Deciding that the boy needed his rest more than a conversation with some one he didn't know, he had seemed very wary of her when she spoke to him, she stayed with the girl. "I'm Vitoria by the way. Vitoria Briar. My family runs the Briar Clinic just outside of Arrvern." Vitoria smiled politely at the girl, only just now starting to worry that she might mind the company.

"Alright. I was born in a western area of Edessa, actually. Mihtmód, you know, where the Lord Bryne and his family reside. My parents were both gardeners, working in their household. When I was seven, my elder brother was taken to the capitol, to find work. I begged my parents to let me follow, and when I was twelve or so, my mother and I finally journeyed to Arrvern. I lived with my brother for a year, before I was old enough to- to work. I then moved into the castle, and I've worked for the last few years as a scullery maid."

Dal actually hadn't heard of Mihtmód, but he had heard Lord Bryne mentioned a few times in his various travels. Never saw the man nor where he lived, but Dal personally didn't admire men or women who clung to titles- and if a maid still referred to him as 'Lord' after all that has happened recently, Dal took that as a sign. Come to think of it, there was an absence of Edessan gentry that Dal actually did like. He often wondered about such a predisposition- perhaps he subconsciously picked it up from his father, the pinnacle of a working man.


"Funny you say that, my mother was a gardener, too. Even taught me the trade."

The two were silent for several moments; Dalsarad absorbed himself into listening to the footsteps of the horses and chewing the grass stalk in his mouth.

Lea broke the silence again: ""Are you planning on becoming a farmhand, then, once we reach the north? Or are you going to pursue something else? Is the earth there very hospitable towards the crops you've tended to here? Sorry if I seem ignorant, I am unaware of the customs of farmers. Is that grass you're chewing a custom of yours as well, or is that just a personal habit?"

Dal chuckled, "No, no, it's just a habit I picked up from my father. He did it to keep from biting his lips, though, which was a much nastier habit. Started when I was younger 'cause I wanted to be like him, I guess."

He spit out the grass stalk to the side of the road. It was starting to remind him of his father, and Dal didn't want to think about him right now. There were numerous more pressing issues than worrying about something he had no control of- it's not like he could stop and turn around at this point, no matter how badly the young man may want to.

"As for what I'm gonna do when we get to the North; hadn't given it much thought. Obvious choice for me would be to become a farmhand, yes, but with the Varyans and Orcs south of us who knows what they'll do. What I'd want to do is earn enough wages somehow to buy my own little plot of land, find a woman I love, and settle down on my own farm. Live my days out in quiet peace."

Dal caught himself- he was starting to get a little off topic. Clearing his throat, he continued.

"But to answer your other question- I'm not sure what the soil there'll be like. Haven't been this far North before. I'm sure it couldn't be too bad, though. I mean, they gotta grow something, right?"

“Pleasure to meet you, Emil Erran."

Corra raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed.

“A knight? How fancy,” she said to the boy. “Can’t say I’ve ever spoken to a knight before, or even someone who wasn’t a knight quite yet,” she continued with a nod in his direction.She had been correct in her assumptions, it seemed. Lordling indeed. Corra had never had much experience dealing with the nobility herself, but she had heard the stories from people in her part of town who had. More than a few of those stories were practically horror stories. Among the poor and desperate nobles were extreme concepts. They were either gods spending their days sipping wine out of golden goblets or cruel, ruthless slavers who were only out to further their own wealth. Overall, Corra had been told to avoid dealing with noble types. According to many, it was an easy way to end up in chains. This young man didn’t seem to fit most of the stereotypes she’d heard. Not at first glance anyways. He seemed nice enough, and not half as pompous as she’d thought he might be.

Corra hesitated before answering his question, a somewhat strange expression on her face.

“Me?” she asked. “I… sold things, mostly. Did a bit of trading. No two jobs were ever the same exactly.”

It wasn’t even a complete lie. Corra almost always sold or traded the items she’d stolen. Perhaps her business was one that was done with shady fences in back alleys, but it was a kind of trading all the same. She wondered what the other members of this little group would think if they knew she was a common thief. She was almost tempted to bluntly say exactly what she was, just to see his reaction. They probably wouldn’t trust her, she thought. It’s best not to let that bit of information on, Corra decided.

“You’re right in that I was certainly never a baker’s girl,” she continued with a smile. “At least, not in recent memory,” she added with her own small laugh. “Occasionally I sang in taverns and gambling houses,” she told him. This happened to be completely true, but it really hadn’t occurred very often. She’d had performer friends that got her little jobs here and there when they couldn’t go on that night. It had even paid pretty decently, and was probably the only honest coin she'd ever earned. She had always enjoyed it. Singing was probably Corra’s favorite thing to do. Perhaps in another life she might’ve made a living out of it…

Corra continued to eye her surroundings suspiciously. She was almost certainly being paranoid now. It was probably due to her unease at leaving the city behind, but she couldn’t help feel that there was something off. It was as if she could tell that something had to be going wrong any moment now. They had left without a hitch, and things rarely went smoothly in Corra’s life.

“You hear something?” she asked Emil, eyes darting to the side. Calm down, she told herself. Probably just an animal stepping on a twig or something. “Nevermind,” she muttered. “Guess I’m just a bit jumpy… So,” she said, forcing her expression to brighten. “What’s it like, being a knight? I’ve always wanted to know,” she said, eyes staying on the road.

"I'm Vitoria by the way," the other girl said with a polite smile. "Vitoria Briar. My family runs the Briar Clinic just outside of Arrvern."

"Never heard of it!" Gabby said with a curling smirk, wiping her hand across her face. "But then, unlike most, I don't find myself stricken with maladies every other month. It has something to do with soap and warm water." She couldn't help it: she snorted out another quick laugh, all too proud of her oh-so-clever self.

"My name is Gabriela," she answered as the two walked. She idly checked to be sure her focusing crystal was still at her wrist; thankfully, her fingers found the sharp edges of that green stone. She repeated the name Vitoria once in her head, then continued speaking, curious thoughts buzzing around her head. "You may call me Gabby if you so wish. Say, doesn't Vitoria have some foreign roots? It sounds far less..."

Rough? Crude? Edessan?

"...native than most." That would suffice. Gabby folded her arms behind her back, quirking an eyebrow over at this Vitoria. She seemed to be one of those genuinely good people - except there was no such thing as a genuinely good person, so that just made her suspicious. Still, she was pleasant enough to talk to, and she wasn't a lackwit, and she apparently knew something of medicine. Gabby prayed it wasn't just peasant remedies.

"And don't worry yourself overmuch about that boy," Gabby piped before Vitoria could get a proper word in. "He's one of those rough-and-tumble types. You could tell just by looking at him. He'd probably prefer to embrace his inner head-thumper and just tough out whatever's ailing him. You know the type." Gabby sighed, shifting her arms up behind her head and glancing off into the distance as they walked. "Besides, we're on the move right now. I'm sure when we stop for camp there will be plenty of time to make sure he doesn't keel over for good.

"So! You said you run a clinic, right?" The young mage changed the subject, licking her dry lips before glancing up at Vitoria again. She didn't have to stretch her neck too much to do so, thankfully, and she felt herself getting in a hawking mood. "Or ran one, I suppose. Well, perhaps you'd like to have a look at my wares some time, hm?" Gabriella's eyes started twinkling with the prospect of a sale. "I create balms, potions, salves; a variety of things that I'm sure would be of interest to a budding physician such as yourself. You do plan on making a new clinic, right? Of course you do."

Gabby looked around once more, this time checking to see if any guards were in earshot. She didn't want her goods confiscated for the sake of the caravan, after all.

Vitoria sighed but smiled all the same at Gabriela's comment. "True, washing with soap every once in a while does greatly decrease your chances for illness every so often, but sadly it won't help much if you have an arrow lodged in your chest. A clinic is not just for the ill, but the wounded as well." Vitoria smiled a bit more genuinely as she quoted her father, although the pang of sadness she felt at remembering made it short-lived. The question of her name's origins took her by surprise, and Vitoria couldn't really say anything about it before Gabriela moved on.

Even though she told her not to worry about the boy, Vitoria still felt her gaze pulled toward the wagon he was in at the mention of him. "That could be the case, yes. However I have never been able to keep myself from worrying." Vitoria forced herself to look at Gabriela, to at least attempt not worrying. "It would probably be a good idea to check up on him when we make camp." They walked in silence for a moment, and then Gabriela spoke again.

"Well, I didn't really run it. I helped my parents run it, lord knows my brothers weren't any help to them." Vitoria laughed a little before continuing. "I suppose that I would start my own clinic, if we ever get there. I have always been interested in healing and helping people, why should that stop just because I'm in a different place?" Vitoria smiled sadly at her memories of helping her parents when she was younger, still learning what to do. "As for these balms and potions and such, I'm sure you have some good stuff, but honestly right now I have no interest in them. Maybe we could talk more about it later though? Magical healing remedies do work much faster than any herbal remedy I could make, and are very useful in an emergency."

"What about you? Do you have any specific plans for your future?"

"Huh. Wouldn't have seen you for a merchant." Emil remarked curiously. He listened as Corra described her various work experiences. She appeared to be a rather well spread individual- a bit of everything it appeared. Most commoners tended towards only one trade, which they often devoted their entire lives to, as it was typically their livelihood.

The Caravan carried on like this for a bit, with the youths introducing themselves to one another and conversing, forming small little groups for a source of comfort in these trying times. The group was still well within Edessan territory, but the roads were quiet and empty, devoid of people and sounds. It wasn't surprising that a few of the youths were jumpy. The entire setting was a bit unsettling: Farmsteads and small villages completely abandoned, several picked apart by enterprising looters. The occasional box of dropped belongings were found on the road or in the grass, signs of people as the hurriedly fled the Edessan countryside.

“You hear something?” Asked Corra, her eyes darting from side to side, obviously on edge. Her nervousness put Emil ill at ease as well. She must have sensed this because she quickly tried to brush it off and continue their conversation. However, before Emil could answer, he noticed something ahead of them.

In the distance, a small white-gray plume seemed to rise in a small pillar, its source hidden by the crest of the hill. It was smoke. But from what? What was the source? As the caravan reached the top of the small hill, they could see it easily ahead of them. Down the road, about a mile out was a lone caravan wagon, overturned and seemingly abandoned, its oaken and canvas shell licked by a growing flame, smoke trickling into the sky. Their own caravan halted as the the head guard gathered the other guards and they spoke for a while, leaving the youths to their own devices.

Seeing the overturned wagon down the road, Emil's mouth tightened into a fine line, and he instinctively tugged at his armor straps, his hand tightening around the spear the guards had given him.

"That fire looks young." Emil said aloud, in a low voice, more to himself than to Corra who was still next to him. Was this a merchant's caravan? or a Refugees? Did it matter? Were those responsible still around, or had they helped themselves to the wagon's spoils and left? No matter what, their caravan couldn't stay here for long. At the top of a small hill, on a round surrounded by yards of grassland before a treeline, they were in the wide open- while they couldn't definitely see any threat that approached them long before the threat arrived, they had no shelter, no cover. At the same time, the Caravan couldn't just drive on past the fallen wagon- it could be a trap.

"I... I think I'm going to go check it out." Emil said to himself, and to a lesser degree Corra, partially to help dispel his own uncertainty.

"I'm afraid I don't know very much about the agricultural conditions of the northern lands, so any statement I may make will not hold much truth concerning the matter."

Elya smiled apologetically, and shook her head. Being in the presence of someone who had a different set of knowledge which was evidently much more practical than her own was more humbling than she had previously known possible. Why was it that she was taught only that which could be used when she was at a high status, rather than that which was universally regarded as important?

The princess grasped the reins of her horse, squeezing them to prevent herself from cringing from embarrassment. The muscles in her face tensed, her jaw moving slightly to set in a more determined state. Swallowing, Elya felt the awkward dryness of her mouth, and waited a bit before responding, in fear that if she spoke now, her voice might falter in an exposing manner, revealing the lies she spoke. Attempting to search for a new topic of conversation, about which she could speak yet without divulging her identity, Elya came up empty. None of her knowledge was relevant in such a way that a simple peasant might be able to relate. Not even love was universal- to her knowledge, "finding" a partner was not an option. Eventually, suitors would be presented, and then, her father would choose. It was simpler that way. Rarely did a monarch get to pick her or his own mate.

She wanted to speak about the consequences of the newly high concentration of people within the north, and what effects that might have on the social aspects of society, as well as the economy. Would trade flourish, as new things and people were suddenly thrust into an equally foreign environment? Or would segregation arise, and if so, would it be incidentally, or purposefully? Would the statistics of crime rise, and would it be the higher society crime, or that of the lower levels of class? How might the nobles be treated by the people, and would they be accepted for their titles, or reduced to commoners with much wealth to their name? So many questions, and no one to ask, Elya bit her lip, fighting back a sigh of frustration.

"Where's your family, then? Why aren't you traveling with them?"

Family. That was one universal factor. Regardless of any status in society, without a family, one could hardly survive in this harsh world. He had already mentioned a mother and father, so in all likelihood, both were living. Perhaps the boy had some siblings. It was odd, she realized, this older boy traveling alone, for many reasons. Before she could stop herself, and before he could answer her initial question, she blurted out another question.

"Why haven't you been enlisted in the militia?"

As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Elya wished she could fall off of her horse, and roll away. Mortified at the suggestion of the question, that this boy was somehow running away from his duty to his country, or that he had some defining disability, she looked away, back to Mhairi, hoping that the girl from the Wilds could interject with some saving remark. As she glanced at the girl, it suddenly occurred to her that she must be quite lonely, surrounded by strangers from a strange land, traveling to a space just as foreign, with even stranger people. Asking this girl about her family would be an even more ill-placed remark, as there was no telling whether they had survived the attacks from all sides on her country.

Wow, I'm selfish... I thought my story was sad, and they... Blood and ashes, what is wrong with me?

"What about you? Do you have any specific plans for your future?"

It was a good question. Oddly, Gabby hadn't thought on it much herself. Her original plan had been to run back to the Empire, but since the Varyan troops did not seem receptive to the idea, she'd had to drop that plan at least for the time being. It wasn't until the moment Vitoria asked that question that the young mage even stopped to consider her new plans for the future.

It showed. It showed on her face plain as day.

"Oh, you know," she began, waving her hand about in a circle. "I was going to, uh... Ply my trade for a time. You know, people always want medicine, tinctures and... stuff." She nodded reassuringly, perhaps more for her benefit than the listener's, as she said "stuff."

What am I going to do after that? she wondered, silently aghast that she hadn't thought that bit through. It was a nasty problem. She'd need to think of a plan for the future. She could make the long trip back to Varya by herself, of course; and the northern lands where you froze to death in the snow might just have a high demand for talented practitioners of the arcane. She could teach her own pupils, perhaps. That could earn a fair bit of coin. And she could always do something about the smoke.

Wait, smoke?

There it was off in the distance, rising in a gray plume. A few among the caravan seemed agitated by it already, or maybe it was the rest of their surroundings: an overturned wagons, a couple lonely and empty carts, abandoned homesteads, boxes littering the ground here and there... But there was not a single body, no stench of blood, and no swarms of flies, so it was safe to assume that nobody died at the scene. Gabby waved her hand in a slow, lazy "stop" motion, slowly coming to a halt herself, and stared about at the haunting lack of... something before looking back at Vitoria and grinning.

"Well," she began, voice cracking as she held back growing excitement, "This is intriguing. Are you tense? I'm just a bit tense."

Gabby looked toward the others among the caravan to see how they were responding. Most looked worried, and Gabby thought she understood why: it could be a very obvious trap. But then again, she mused, it could be the results of a sloppy robbery. But what was just as interesting to Gabby were the belongings left scattered around the ground.

Deciding it was only dutiful to procure some valuables, Gabby started toward one of the nearest bundles of belongings, her left hand gripping her focus crystal tightly. With her other, she reached out and began sifting through that small pack, all too curious - and perhaps desirous - of what could be inside.

Besides, it wasn't her fault whoever left this behind got chased off.

"I'm afraid I don't know very much about the agricultural conditions of the northern lands, so any statement I may make will not hold much truth concerning the matter."

"Very, eh..nobly put.

Dalsarad had to admit, though was only now just realizing, the girl sounded very educated. If he recalled, she hadn't mentioned receiving any. Did Lords often educate their maids? Dal seemed to recall some acting as teachers or wards for lower nobles, but he'd assumed those were already educated elsewhere. Maybe she had picked it up from her parents- maybe they were educated. Perhaps there was some schooling program for the working class that Dal's parents simply had no desire to send him to; certainly seemed reasonable, given how much his father wanted him to work each week. Dal made it a point to ask the young rider about it later.

"Where's your family, then? Why aren't you traveling with them?"

Bit of a sensitive topic, but Dalsarad wouldn't ever make progress towards getting over it if he didn't talk to anyone about it.

The farmboy cleared his throat, "Well, my fath-"

"Why haven't you been enlisted in the militia?"

Dal's teeth clicked as he slammed his mouth shut; felt his heart melt into his stomach. His face flushed red with a multitude of feelings- anger among them. Had the young rider eluded that he was a deserter? That Dalsarad had chosen to be on this caravan instead of giving his life defending his home?

He looked back towards Lea- her knuckles were turning white from clenching the reins, and she looked tense. Didn't try looking at Dalsarad. Maybe she hadn't meant to say anything, but that didn't make the question hurt any less. In truth, the young man was unsure of what to do. He was left flabbergasted at the suddenness of the question- he wanted to yell, cry, and not say anything all at the same time. Dalsarad clenched his fists as hard as Lea was her reins.

"I'll, uh.." He trailed off, not quite sure what he was going to say. Didn't like to say anything if he wasn't one-hundred percent sure of it. Besides, she didn't seem to be listening, anyway. He simply patted Lea's horse's head a few times and moved a little farther up the caravan.

Dalsarad was a few carts ahead of where he had been when he finally came to and noticed the tuft of smoke the others around him seemed to be perplexed by. A pair of littler ones near him- couldn't have been older than ten years of age- were gossiping as to what it could be. One mused it would be the Varyan Emperor burning at the stake, while the other simply assumed it would be a campfire made by other travelers, akin to the caravan. At some point they both looked up at Dal- perplexed perhaps by his armor or sword- who smiled back at them. The caravan was reaching the crest of the hill now, and the two young ones were excited to see who was closer to being right.

"Oh shi-" Dal caught himself; there was little ones near him, after all. The grim cavalcade came to a halt. Before them was an overturned and burning wagon- its contents (But not owners, thankfully) were strewn about the road.

Well, in all technicality, one boy was certainly closer to being right than the other.

Dal moved to the front of the caravan, taking the scene in. He unclasped his shield and held it in his left hand while the other nervously hovered the hilt of his saber. The guards were convening, but Dal noticed some of the youth were making their way towards the overturned wagon. That could prove very problematic, especially if the offenders were still around. The last thing Dal- or anyone, for that matter- wanted would be for someone to be captured, or worse.

It's okay, I was tired of feeling safe here, anyways. He thought to himself as he followed behind two others- one boy and one girl. The boy sported some knightly-looking plate while the girl was dressed much more lightly. The latter suddenly stooped to search a pack from the less fortunate wagon.

"Woah, easy with the sticky fingers." Dal took a swipe at the pack but missed as he didn't want to stop moving towards the wagon. He caught a small glimpse of the girl's face- she was older than he thought; was probably closer to his age. As was the boy, whom he addressed next after jogging a moment to catch up to his horse.

"Don't see any bodies. Dunno if that makes me feel any better."

It was strange to walk through a landscape that was so empty. Corra had always been surrounded by people, by noise, by the life that coursed through the city’s veins. Out here however, there was little to nothing. The farms and villages she could see appeared to be completely abandoned and utterly dead. The surroundings were making Corra feel uneasy, and she said as much when she asked the would-be knight if he had heard anything. She was still trying to calm her nerves, move the conversation along, when she picked up on the commotion.

It seemed she saw the source of it all only a moment after Emil had. The smile slowly fell from her face as she took in the scene, cheerful mask dripping away as her eyes narrowed at the burning wagon. Any city kid such as herself would be good at spotting bad news when it came about, and this seemed like trouble to Corra.

Emil was right when he said that the fire looked young, the old wooden shell of the wagon would burn quickly, and would have been no more than a pile of charred wood and ash if whatever had happened happened a while ago. And something had clearly happened, she thought to herself. There didn’t seem to be anyone around the burning wagon, alive or dead. It wasn’t as if a caravan simply appeared out of thin air and caught on fire. Perhaps the corpses are still inside the wagon, she mused. And perhaps this is an ambush waiting to happen.

It wouldn’t be the first time Corra experienced something of that nature. There was occasionally bad blood between the gangs of street rats that had roamed the city’s streets. It wasn’t unheard of for some of the more intelligent or more malicious groups to plan traps for their enemies. Corra’s own gang had been lured into a house with guards already waiting for them once or twice, thanks to tips others had left. While Corra had made it out of these instances unscathed, they had certainly left her wary of setups that almost obviously looked like traps. She doubted there was a great chance of being put in irons by guards out in the middle of nowhere. That had to mean however, if this whole burning caravan was a trap, there was almost definitely something worse waiting for them.

"I... I think I'm going to go check it out."

When the boy beside her announced his intentions to go closer to the mess, Corra glanced at him incredulously. “What? Why?” she asked, her expression clearly indicating that she thought the idea to be stupid if not slightly crazy.

“There are guards around, let them go look. This is the kinda thing they’re here for, isn’t it? Besides, this whole setup smells foul. Tell me you don’t see something wrong with this picture.”

Despite her words, she couldn’t help but take a step or two forward as she said them, trying to get a better look. Corra had often struggled with her own curious nature in the past. She knew better than to get involved with things like this, things that spelled trouble for her. She had learned to avoid needless messes, and had often learned the hard way, yet…

She saw a few of the other kids from their little caravan move forward to inspect the wagon, including the boy beside her. With a slightly exasperated sigh, she followed just a bit behind them, flitting about nervously like a small bird. If this were the city, she would have found some dark alcove to fit into and watch the scene unfold from the safety of the shadows. But here, there was nowhere to hide. She felt exposed, and it was a feeling she did not particularly like.

A girl in front of her appeared to be eagerly rifling through the scattered belongings. Corra snorted lightly. She may have been the thief, but she knew when to keep her paws to herself.

Another boy in front of her, wearing some sort of armor and holding a small shield, remarked to Corra’s previous companion about the lack of corpses. "Don't see any bodies. Dunno if that makes me feel any better."

Corra frowned from her position behind them. “It shouldn’t,” she muttered, not sure if he’d be able to hear her or not. Corra’s own hand started towards her dagger, though she was able to refrain from drawing the blade for the moment.

"Oh, you know, I was going to, uh... Ply my trade for a time. You know, people always want medicine, tinctures and... stuff." Gabriela's answer made it clear to Vitoria that the girl probably hadn't thought about the future much, and she almost regretted asking, as she didn't want to cause any more worries than the girl already had. She smiled, hoping to reassure her. "Well, if you run out of options, you could probably work with me at the clinic."

Vitoria didn't notice the smoke until Gabriela stopped walking. It was a wagon, likely hit by bandits and left to burn, although the flame seemed too small to have been burning for long. "This is intriguing. Are you tense? I'm just a bit tense." Gabriela said to her, a grin on her face.

"Um, no. I don't think I am, anyway." Vitoria followed Gabriela as she started walking out towards the wagon. She followed, and then walked right past her when she started to go through one of the small bags on the ground. Sure, it technically wasn't stealing if the stuff was abandoned, but Vitoria didn't much like the practice of going through things that weren't yours, even if it's somewhat justified.

She walked up to the wagon itself, the fire not big enough to be too hot to approach. It looked to be intact, except for the flames, and a quick look inside proved it to be empty. She heard one of the others who had decided to come check everything out mention the lack of bodies, something that Vitoria had noticed, but not worried about. Well, it was more like she had noticed there weren't any people, she hadn't thought of the possibility of finding someone dead by the wagon. "I'd say it's a good thing that there's no bodies around, it means that whatever happened here couldn't have been too bad."

Emil looked back and noticed several of the other youths trailing behind him and felt a bit more reassured. Corra mentioned something about letting the guards handle the fallen crate, Emil merely shrugged in response. There were too few guards to do all the legwork anyway, the caravan wagons still had around 30 kids and supplies that needed to be watched. One of the youths that followed him began digging around in a discarded knapsack. Emil frowned a bit, but was too far forward to return and stop her- another one of the youths attempted to stop her, but ultimately continued moving on. This other male youth was around Emil's age- perhaps a bit older than him, he bore a small shield and he wore armor, a peasant's armor, but armor nonetheless. Corra and another girl from the caravan had ended up following them as well.

"Don't see any bodies. Dunno if that makes me feel any better." the male in peasant's armor spoke up

“It shouldn’t,” Corra replied almost instantaneously.

By this time, their caravan had noticed that the youths had gone on ahead and began slowly moving down the short hill to catch up with them. Emil easily dismounted from his horse, putting himself on ground level with the others. He gave his horse a light pat and knew that the trained animal would stay there until he needed it. With the others, Emil examined the fallen wagon more closely. The cart was on its side, wheels facing them on the road, its overturned innards concealed from view. The canvas side of the wagon had continued burning as they approached, and was now considerably larger, as it ate at the dry canvas and wood. The flame was still small enough that the heat that it created wasn't unbearable, but it wouldn't be much longer until the rest of the wagon caught fire.

Slowly turning the corner to inspect the inside of the overturned wagon, Emil gingerly lifted the canvas flap with his arm, his other hand gripping his spear. Strewn inside were the three bodies of a man, woman, and child. From the family's dress and the interior of the wagon, it was obvious that this was no merchant family, but refugees. However, valuables and belongings still hung from their bodies and lined the insides of their wagon. This was no bandit attack. Examining in the darkness of the wagon interior, Emil realized that the man's arms had been removed, not by blade, but by teeth. A wagon of this size had to have housed more than just a poor family of three.

Emil's face paled as realization dawned on him. "Orcs." he breathed softly as he turned to face the others.

There was a loud shout from behind them, and Emil spun to face their caravan wagons. From the treeline to the left of the caravan, a group of 4 orcs had burst from hiding and began sprinting towards the caravan wagons. Though the treeline was 10 yards away from the edge of the road, the orcs were large and fast enough that they could cross the distance in a short time. Trailing behind them was a pack of 6 goblins.

An Orc was on average, well over a head taller than an adult male human, and considerably broader set. Their skin was a dark gray, and was as tough as leather. The Orcs wore crude patchwork sets of chainmail and leather, with the occasional metal plate here and there. Two of the orcs bore cruel, square bladed falchions, another wielded a crude battle axe, while the last held a large hammer. A goblin, on the other hand, was considerably smaller and skinnier than the average orc, standing about half the height of an average human. Goblins were in general weaker, if a bit more nimble than the average human. These goblins bore a mixture of poorly made bows, knives, clubs, and spears, and wore mostly poorly crafted hides and leather.

The caravan guards quickly formed up to defend the wagons, but with so few of them, they'd be overwhelmed quickly. Emil sprinted to his horse and mounted it. "Orcs!"

Elya watched the young squire as he followed the other boy, and another as of yet unidentified girl to an overturned wagon. Uninterested in the lot, she wondered why they were not steering clear of it, as such matters were the job of guardsmen, and more capable adults. That squire, though, seemed slightly familiar. She raised her hood again, to cover her head, hoping the squire had never come close enough to be able to recognize her face. Any thought of the issue of identity, or her pride and humility, escaped from her mind, though, as she saw the squire racing back towards his horse. The color drained from her face, as she turned her head to glance over her shoulder. The sight which met her eyes matched the shout of the young squire. Orcs.

Before her thoughts could register, before she had a chance to react, Elya's line of sight was blocked by the approaching Odran Tarus. Her hand rose to her chest, as if to verify that her little scroll was still tucked safely into her bodice. The paper was still there, flimsy, but there. The rough knight noticed, but disregarded this little action. When he spoke, Odran's gruff voice was soft enough only to reach the ears of the young princess. "Your Grace, this way." She noticed his hand, resting casually on the hilt of his blade, ready to draw at a moment's notice. Her own hand, she realized, had dropped from her chest to grip the hilt of her sword, still hidden in its camouflaged sheath.

The knight led Elya from the crowded caravan, both maneuvering their horses away from the group. Following him, Elya wondered what was in the overturned wagon on the other side of the people, and what was happening to the two who had been standing by it. With another glance over her shoulder, she saw the orcs and goblins coming closer. Having never seen one in person, she reckoned that they were much larger than she had imagined, from what she could discern by the pictures she had seen in her books. Her eyes fixated on the guards abandoning their respective wagons to fight the coming monsters. She did not realize she had slowed her horse until a grunt from Odran brought her attention back.

Elya found that they were now a few spans ahead of the fallen wagon on the path, barely hidden from the view of both the caravan, and the orcs and goblins. Under the cover of scattered rocks, and trees lacking any leaves on their branches, her brown horse seemed as if she would blend into the scenery, from a distance anyways. Odran turned back to face Elya, a stern look on his already stone-like face. If rock could be said to seem foreboding, such was the expression he wore. Realizing she had been unconscious of her own face, her mouth having been gaping open, she snapped her jaw shut, to try to match Odran's eyes. "My Lady, stay here. We cannot risk- I don't need to explain what you already know. Stay." He added a respectful 'Your Grace' following that final command, before riding back toward the main caravan, to join the other guardsmen against the orcs. His sword flew from its sheath in his hand, gracefully, without a sound, as his horse galloped towards the approaching beasts.

Unhappy with the command she had been given, discontent to simply sit there doing nothing, Elya still waited. She recognized the danger, and realized the uselessness of her doing anything stupid to prove a point. Instead of moving to fight, to disobey the command given to her by her temporary protector, she elected to think. The orcs had come out from the treeline, though her head was swimming from fear so much, throbbing in rhythm with her heartbeat, she had lost all sense of direction, except to know that they were on their way North. A thought occurred to her, but she shoved it out of her mind as soon as it entered- Did they in fact come from the South? If so, had they passed through the capitol?

Shaking her head, Elya drew her sword out from its sheath. The small blade might not be considered more than a dagger by those who were experienced with broadswords and the like, but in her equally small hands, it seemed suitable. Slightly curved, with only one edge sharpened, it was unlike any swords a knight might carry. Its shape resembled a thorn more than anything else- hence its name. Holding it in her hands, running her thumb along the dulled edge, Elya felt a sense of control. With a weapon, she had something other than another person's will to protect herself.

Eyes averted from the scene ahead, Elya imagined a flame in her mind. Selecting all of her fears, and doubts, and worries, everything that might hinder her, she fed each fleeting thought into the flame, until it grew into a great fire. Without the kindling left, though, the fire burned out, leaving behind only ash, and a void of darkness. This emptiness was calming, even if it was forced, and it gave her the courage to look up again, and view the fight for what it was. Her breathing, which had been ragged and quick, slowed to a better pace, clearing her view, as she watched from the shadow in which she hid.

Nimerya, Elya's horse, seemed antsy, her hoofs brushing the ground hesitantly, kicking up dust and dirt distractedly. Absent minded, not paying any heed to Nimerya's actions, Elya sheathed her sword again, but kept one hand on the hilt. The other she raised, to stroke her horse's mane. Lips closed, Elya hummed something softly, a song to temporarily pacify her horse, while keeping her aware. Nimerya's muscles tensed, and relaxed, as she calmed. The horse's eyes wandered to the horizon, watching the sky where it met the land, as if expecting someone or something to emerge from the crease between the heavens and the earth.