It was a rather cold spring that day. The sudden gushes of wind, accompanied with the uncanny low temperature in the air made the season feel more closely related to autumn if it were not for the lively and vibrant colors, vast fields of green dotted with innumerable, multicolored spots of blooming flowers, all under a clear ocean-blue sky with seldom a puff of pure-white clouds hovering above. The more superstitious of peasant-folk would consider the strange coldness a sign, a sign of misfortune, yet it did not deter them from their daily lives of honest, hard labor. The more work-savvy of men and women were rather grateful for the low temperature, superstitious or not, they were glad not to be sweating in the heat quite as profusely as always. The city folk were less enthused, obviously, some of the more cold-sensitive citizens even going as far as lighting small fires in their cold houses to keep warm while not telling a soul about it since it would make them seem rather strange in the eyes of their neighbors who, ironically, probably did the same.

Adventures, on the other hand, were a hardy folk, despite all their other possible short-comings. Come bright sun, beating heat, chilling cold or torrential rain, these would-be-heroes would not shy away from their ‘missions’, after all the call for adventure was always around, glory was waiting and so were the folk with too much silver in their pockets, a lot of problems and just not enough muscle to solve them. Not all folk looked upon them with pleasant eyes though, many seeing them as little more than glorified sell-swords with deluded flights of fancy, aspiring to become as renowned and glorious as the five heroes which defeated the Great Lord. An aspiration which, truth be told, only few adventurers had, how can one become renowned for defeating a great evil when there is none? No. The majority of adventurers wish to make a name for themselves, indeed, but the glory and riches is merely a bi-product of their original goal : A life of freedom. Freedom to roam the lands and witness its many wonders. Freedom to aid those in need for just causes and great recompense. The sort of freedom that only comes with a life of adventuring!
Or so, the songs go…

It had been a couple of days since that wandering bard had spun its tales, of the many perks that come with the life of an adventurer and how wealth and glory are there for the taking. He couldn’t help but smile when he thought back on it. He had been wandering the roads for most of his lifetime, the last 6 years being spent as a sell-sword and most recently a self-styled adventurer, as such he was confident that he quite a lot about what such a life would entail. Well, maybe not A LOT but more than a simple bard, certainly. He always found it odd that the songs never mention the other, less pleasant, aspects of adventuring. Such as the cold nights, seemingly never-ending roads, pockets filled more with dirt rather than silver, stomachs devoid of food rather than satiated and most importantly, how many do not choose this life for glory or whatever reason but are rather left with no alternative. Well, at least that song was spot-on about meeting new and interesting personalities during one’s escapades.

The group that he found himself being a part of for this mission could not have been odder. A pious man of the cloth who looked a tad too old for wandering the land, a young lady dressed in finery who seemed like she goes on adventures just to pass the time before returning to her cushy home, a giant of an Orc which Brann is half-sure was raised by Dwarves considering how often he is seen with a bottle in his hand, a knight in a black set of armor that seems more appropriate for the next ‘great evil’ rather than a would-be-hero, a sorceress with the uncanny ability of never smiling to the point where Brann was close to formulating a tickle-ambush plan, an Elven woman with an ego as tall as her and a voice twice as loud, a Satyr woman which seems to be a very far away from the home she was supposed to be in and last but not least, a rather pale and effeminate young lad dressed in black which Brann knew was something off about due to him sensing an aura of dark-magic around the lad, only to be confirmed his suspicion by the boy’s sudden honesty with regard to his nature not long after they departed.

Brann had seen all sorts of people come and go when he was with the Ironwood Company, but even the strangest of sell-swords didn’t come within a mile of the strangeness of this group. One messily year of adventuring did not prepare him for this sort of company, yet he was glad to see that despite the appearances of some, they were decent traveling companions, or at least seem to be up to this point. ‘It’s only been two and a half days..’ he thought to himself as he carefully scampered over a large boulder, considering that they were all mere acquaintances with each-other and perhaps he should not be as friendly with them as he was. Yet, one can hardly fight their own nature, right? ‘Besides, they all seem..’ his thoughts were briefly interrupted when he turned around and stretched his hand to help one of the female companions climb on top of the boulder before finishing them with a soft smile ‘..nice’.
The smile was friendly enough yet the jape about the woman being heavier than she appeared was met with a mean gaze and Brann half-thought he was going to get smacked when he realized he probably should not have said that.

“I.. I meant your gear! I wasn’t implying anything, I swear!” He quickly said trying to, in vain, save the situation but the female companion had already climbed down the boulder, leaving Brann to sigh to himself with a thought of ‘Nice one, asshat. Real gentlemanly of you..’

It was only after he leapt down himself that he took a more considerate gander at his surroundings. This forested area was rocky beyond reason; their group had to watch their step since they first saw the tree-line a few hours ago. The ground was also starting to become steep, transitioning into a slight incline the deeper they went. Tall trees offered a slight shade from the glowing sun yet they were not vast enough to completely cover the sky with their branches and leaves. It had been a few days of travel from the small road-side inn close to the edge of the Human Kingdom and Brann was pretty sure that their employer had lead them beyond the border and further East, heading for the Dwarven Kingdom, a hunch reinforced by the rocky terrain.

Ah, yes; their surreptitious employer. Even in the midst of such a colorful group of adventurers, Timothy stood out with his vibrant clothes. The Elven merchant was dressed in some sort of finery dyed a bright orange, decorated with a deep red trim and golden buttons that glistened in the sunlight. His faded green trousers and rather simplistic leather boots were the only part of his attire that didn’t immediately catch the eye. At first glance, one could easily mistake him for a Human as his face was strangely lacking the delicate features so common among Elves, his curly brown hair was kept short and hidden underneath a green and brown checkered beret with only a pair of long side-burns decorating his visage. The leather pack he carried on his back was by far the largest among the group, seemingly stuffed to bursting with who-knows-what assortment of items, the simple iron buttons and buckles visibly struggling to hold on and prevent the contents from spilling.

Timothy himself was rather vague about the exact purpose of this expedition; then again one would expect that considering his reputation. Brann heard of him and despite meeting the merchant for the first time, knew that he was only going to tell them ‘just enough’ about this mission without actually telling them anything, a talent that one would imagine was common for merchants. And yet, the self-styled Spellsword didn’t hesitate to shake hands and follow, Timothy’s promise of a proper recompense sounding too good to pass and quite frankly, he had little alternatives. A stumble from a somewhat-large rock interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to the moment at hand, Brann groaning as he picked himself up from the ground, dusting his green cloak.
“How far are we supposed to wander, again?” he called to Timothy who was leading the group, seemingly having no problems with the terrain despite his heavy burden.

“Further East, friend..” the merchant’s voice was raspy, as if he had to clear his throat “Then a bit to the North. It’s not very far now!”

‘It’s not very far now… You have been saying that since yesterday!’ were Brann’s thoughts as he paused for a moment to catch his breath. Reaching behind on his significantly smaller pack he deftly pulled out his waterskin for a drink, only to discover that there were little over a few drops left.

“You must be joking..” he murmured to himself, shaking the receptacle in the vain hope that water would magically flow from its nuzzle.

The thought of using his magical ability to conjure some fresh water crossed his mind, yet he ultimately decided against it, afraid that the act would fatigue him more than the water would restore and that the chances for HIM to conjure actual drinkable water were rather… slim. Instead, he decided to appeal to the generosity of his companions.

“Anyone care to share?” He asked loudly with a foolish half-smile while holding his waterskin for all to see as the last drop stubbornly clinged to the nuzzle before falling on the rocky terrain underneath.

"ANOTHER village in your eye,
Between a stretch of cloud,
There across a painted sky,
Feel a heartbeat sound.

It's in your boots,
It's in your step,
It's in the craggy rocks,
Towards the hills,
Towards the gates,
Towards the clouded docks.

Do you see them sailing?
The boats o'er the sky?
Do you see them failing?
And falling as they fly?"

Syfa was having a good day. She hummed to herself inbetween her whispered half-poems and kept up a steady march as the pleasant sound of her hooves clacking on the rocks punctuated every move she made. What wonderful company this time around! So varied and so pretty. She couldn't help but stare at the lot of them, when they weren't looking and sometimes when they were, catching a moment of eyes locking before flashing a smile. The noblewoman was her favourite. She always looked so graceful when she walked, and picturesque in her attire - but the holyman had a certain charm about him as well, prayers were as beautiful as poetry in their own right, and then Brann had a good look about him, he was a real adventurer, a kindred spirit, but Cassian had that lovely tone of voice, the orc had that muscle and a good taste in alcohol-

All the people in the group were pretty good, she concluded.

She watched as the rest of the retinue lugged about their packs, and she was glad for a moment, her wooden equipment weighed a lot less, and being the transient, nomadic person that she was she carried very little on her anyway. Though as the people marching sometimes passed her with the rolls of rope and metal cooking pots and pans, she sometimes wondered if they saw her as naive or underprepared. She lost the spring in her step as she walked, turning something into a trudge along as she did so.

She opened up her flask, taking a sip of the water that tasted so very faintly of the stream they'd passed by a day ago. She thought of trees and flowers and all the whispers the forest made when they had marched through. Glancing up along the rocky road, her heels a spring - she bounced along up toward Brann, walking until she was in front of him, then turning around, walking backwards for a moment as she wordlessly handed her flask to him in something of a spin before heading off toward the front, the fore. A better view was promised to her there.

Seth usually didn't keep company close on his travels. However, the Elven merchant had piqued his curiosity enough to make him do something different, at least just this once. His fellow adventurers in this group were...interesting, to say the least. There was the 'spellsword', Brann, who seemed like he'd feel more at home in a tavern cracking jokes, Cassian, a revenant who seemed rather brainy for an undead, Reggie, an orc who seemed like he'd explode if he was allowed to drink as he pleased in any pub at all, a witch, a rather energetic satyr, a priest who seemed like the most kind old man you'd ever see, an elf...

...and Penelope.

Penelope was the biggest reason why Seth had agreed to travel with this group. Paladins, especially those of royal blood, were known far and wide for their ability to cleanse unholiness. He wouldn't jump to it immediately, but Seth had hoped that Penelope would, in the future, rid him of his horrid curse. For now, he would start by conversing with her and possibly becoming good friends.

"Pardon me, Penelope," Seth began, walking up to the paladin in an attempt to strike up a conversation, "but could you please give me a moment of your time? I wanted to know what you think of this 'expedition' we've been sent on."

@Ryuji Sakamoto

The sound of hooves clacking on the semi-rocky ground was something Brann had become accustomed to. It had an odd quality about it which made it pleasant to the ear, in the same fashion how certain scents carried a pleasant sensation to certain people. This feeling was only amplified in this moment when he saw Syfa, their Satyr spear-woman, frolicking her way in a playful manner towards him and lending her flask with a flourish before trotting on her, rather accurately put, merry way. This one of those rare occasions when Brann hadn’t notice he had been smiling all this time, the thought that perhaps his damaged tooth was showing off just a touch too much had crossed his mind yet it left just as easily. ‘I’m sure they’ve seen worse’ he thought as his thirst was pleasantly quenched as he drank deep from the flask.

Just as he wiped his chin from a few stray drops with the leathery-part of his gauntlet, he heard a second, less friendly, noise thrown at him.

"Well ya should’ve filled it up more, now shouldn’t ya.” The voice belonged to none other than the Elven woman named Ninty, someone who seemed less enthused about this mission than the rest and who also appeared to have taken a bit of a disliking towards Brann, perhaps due to his demeanor or his earlier slip of the tongue.

“Lucky for you Jester, ya got her to keep ya alive.” The comment made Brann focus his attention to her ‘Guess I already have a nickname then?’ he wondered.

“No need to be jealous, darling. You know I only have eyes for you” The Spellsword responded with a smirk and a false-flattering tone, unsure if Ninty heard him though considering how swiftly she passed by.

All around him his new companions were beginning to form some semblance of bonds between each other, some more easily than others. The Revenant, Cassian was being quite distant, even more-so than he was before, yet Brann didn’t worry, thinking that perhaps he simply needed some time. Speaking of Cassian, Brann’s sight shifted towards Samuel, ‘..or maybe I should call him Father Samuel?’ unsure if the pious man kept his saintly title in this life-style. The man was falling a bit behind but not out of necessity but by choice, as one could easily see him admiring the environment, taking it all in. An ironic twist of fortune had made Samuel the only one unaware of Cassian’s true nature and neither Brann nor the others had the heart of telling him just yet, thinking that it may cause quite the disparity between them. The cold glares and unfiltered disproval from Penolope were already enough, he considered.

Reinvigorated, Brann cracked his neck and continued marching, this time at least trying to be a touch more cautious about his footing. It didn’t take long for him to catch up with Ninty and Syfa, which allowed him to partially eavesdrop on their conversation before moving on, pretending he wasn’t listening, whistling a silly tune to himself and keeping his gaze forward. Timothy was still ahead of everyone, even the rather enchanting Krielie’nas was having a hard time keeping up with him despite her rush. Brann scratched his head, he couldn’t for the life of him understand how this Elf could move so easily over such problematic terrain while also carrying that monster of a pack. Yes, one could argue that Syfa and Ninty were having no troubles either yet they were both significantly less burdened and Brann was sure at least one of them had been strolling through terrain like this for at least half their lives.

‘The pay better live up to what he was promising. Gonna need a new pair of boots after this is all done…’ he contemplated while shielding his eyes from a ray of sunlight that peeked through the branches above.

---

Timothy had one of his characteristic smirks plastered on his mug, seemingly pleased with himself as he occasionally glanced behind at the selection of would-be-heroes he hired. With these numbers, finding what he is looking for ought to be child’s play.

“Not far now… Just a little bit further..” one would sometimes hear him mumble to himself if they could keep up with him. Whatever it was he looked for must be important. The group was days away from any civilized settlement, at the very edge of the Dwarven Kingdom where the wilderness was unwelcoming and the terrain too difficult to maneuver for even the most skilled farmer, hence why the Southern part of their lands was left to the will of nature and evidently, the more superstitious folk would come up with a whole plethora of tales and rumors about the dangers of the wild, be it to warn others, scare them or just to entertain and pass the time.

A sudden and loud series of ‘CAWS’ had briefly interrupted the group of adventurers from their respective conversations, drawing their attentions upwards to a small flock of crows that had taken flight from the trees that had so perfectly kept them hidden from view. Most flew away through whatever gaps they could find between the branches yet a couple of them had simply moved to different trees, as if intending to watch what this curious group of ‘intruders’ were up to.

DO you see the road, she says!
Do you see the end?
Do you see our destination,
Up around the bend?

What of pave and promised beds?
Do you see them too?
The crows within their murder,
With caws upon a cue?

One would spell misfortune,
A pair the other way,
Three will keep you healthy,
And four, with wealth, have sway,

Five will bring a sickness,
To rot you inside out,
And six cry bloody murder,
In all their noisy shouts.

Came her rhyming reply to Ninty. She didn't actually answer her question though, which in her own mind was cute, she thought it was a better response than simply just telling her 'No' and that she was just sort of milling behind Timothy and trying her darndest to not get left in his dust. The smile Brann had flashed her in that quick moment still had her beaming. She walked with an easy bounce in her hooves, even as the elven merchant ahead of them continued to draw the ire of the party. Syfa thought herself rather forgiving with people like that, especially in his position, leading a bunch of hardened adventurers wasn't going to be stress-free. Maybe he'd actually forgotten where they were meant to be going, she mulled the thought over for a while. Still, it wasn't like she could catch up with him and ask. At least, not without getting winded on the run up toward him, and she was happy at her steady bouncing pace.

She looked toward the sky for a bit, the view ahead had bored her when she realized it was much the same. She spied the crows in their trees, counting them up to see which omen they were a portent for, when she was satisfied, she stared upward and shared the same view of blue that Samuel had been enjoying. A natural romantic, in every sense of the word. She decided it wasn't really her lot in this group to worry over where they were going, or why they hadn't reached it yet. In her previous mercenary company all she had to worry about was the flow of her poetry, the sound of her songs and the punch of her jokes. She saw no reason to change the winning formula.

Stopping to give a lazy stretch, she noticed Brann had caught up to her and Ninty, and flashed a smile his way. She just wanted to ruffle his hair but mustered enough willpower to refrain from embarrassing him (or herself) for little reason than a whim. "I like jesters, personally. All the little bells they wear are just darling, aren't they?" Her smile was infectious, and she was obviously trying her best to spread it to the curmudgeon elf and the dashing spellsword.