For a tired soul, it would be an early morning to be gathered in the streets, loitering with others as the final preparations for travel were made. Yet for the denizens of the Grussocaean capital, none seemed to care enough to see off the heroes on their fateful venture into the world that was taken from them. Nary a merchant or guard was seen darting about, nor did the birds sing their morning call. Even the very sky seemed to cry tears for what was about to happen, as if the stars herald their doing as an ill omen for the future.

Not that Neiryl Cierrspenne was worried, however. The king was certain he was taking the right path for his people and the others Grussocaea had taken in with opened arms. They—demons, orcs, undead and the like—would come, in due time, to strike at his fledgling kingdom standing alone against the darkness. He couldn't let down those who put their trust in him; to let them suffer a slow death behind the walls that they had built and now protected his holdings. No, if the remaining kingdoms, states and nations wished to survive, Neiryl believed, then they had to be willing to take the first step. To go on the offensive against that which threatened to destroy them.

"It is time, old friend." A grizzled, one-eyed man spoke, drawing his king's attention away from his inner thoughts. Together, they had sat, roasted cuccia nut tea in hand, within a large, wagon-like structure, evidently the then-home of the caravan's leader. "My men are ready to go upon your order. But you and I—it may be the last we see of each other."

"Indeed, Phalfus." The king stood from his chair and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "You have been there for my family for decades, yet I fear I now ask too much of you. It should've been me leading this caravan. Your service has earned you well enough the retirement."

The man chortled a painful laugh, one that soon turned into a cough. "I never took you one to worry, lad. You've allowed this old man one last chance to help his king. If I am to die, then I'm glad it was in service to you."

His reply was enough to make even the king grimace. Still, Neiryl replaced it quickly with a soft smile, nodding back to Phalfus. A brave man, the king thought highly, but even bravado could kill a brave man. Yet even then, knowing of all the risks his undertaking would bring, Phalfus had been eager to volunteer.

"Gather your men," Neiryl replied, walking over towards the wagon's great, wooden door to go outside. "It is likely they may never see these lands again or be forced to give their lives in service to our future. I wish to speak with them before you leave to recognize them as the heroes they are to be, should fate dictate it."

"Now there's the king I know—always willing to make a spectacle over heroics and glory!" Phalfus heartily bellowed as he stood from his chair and pulled a nearby rope, ringing a large, golden bell on the roof of his dwelling that would signal the caravan to assemble before the main wagon. "Though, lad, do be quick about it. Any longer we stay and this rain will make it hell for us to travel."

He trudged through the empty streets where the only light cast came streaming through shuttered windows and the flickering lamplight of the little boy leading him to the meeting place.

He wasn't from the city as anyone that looked could plainly tell, as the heavy footfalls and looming frame decorated with animal furs suggested this behemoth of a man was from less civilized lands.

However the half-orc worried little about the stigma he was accustomed to as the lack of citizenry in the dark streets made his journey all the quicker still, but he could feel that it wasn't under the best circumstances that civilians were shuttering themselves in their abodes.

It wasn't hard to guess why as the world outside the city had fallen to ruins, it was only a matter of time before this last bastion of civilization would too crumble before the encroaching hordes of monsters. Skjal knew it all too well as he had travelled through that hell to get here where eventually caught wind of some caravan planning to traverse the godforsaken lands outside the city walls.

"Here, something warm for you. Looks like the rain won't be letting up any time soon."

Lilian accepted the offering, a small loaf of honeyed bread fresh from the sister's oven.

"You're too kind," she said. The sister smiled and waved Lilian off. The small doorway provided little protection from the water and wind, but once the sister closed the door with a soft thump and Lilian stepped out into the rain it seemed to grow worse by twofold. Or maybe that was her nerves, warning her against going on this expedition. What else could she do, though? Where else could she go? She couldn't keep hopping from church to church, showing her broken pendant and depending on the graciousness of those willing to help a fellow member of the cloth, not knowing she was a deserter. She'd cringed the first time she'd visited one, feeling like she was taking advantage of people's kindness. With every one she visited the feeling got a little worse.

Now that she'd finally made it here to the Grussocaean capital, she could travel with the protection of a caravan. As crazy as their goal was, Lilian thought this would be best for her. A new start somewhere. Reinvigorate herself... sort of.

She stood in the rain for a few moments, listless. The city had been dark and sullen when she'd first arrived two days ago, but now it seemed nearly abandoned. If she hadn't just spoken with someone a few moments ago, she would have thought that the dim light in various windows were just for show.

Soon enough the Lilian felt the bread in her hands rapidly cooling down, and so she picked up her feet and started walking, nibbling at the food as she did so. If she recalled, she could probably catch the caravan as it left the city through it's main gate... and sure enough, approaching the gate she came upon a train of wagons pulled tightly together. Must be it, she thought.

The clanging of a bell startled Lilian, and she fumbled her poor loaf of bread a few times before snatching it and shoving what remained of it into her mouth. She chewed with a peculiar expression on her face, stuck between alarmed and annoyed. At least the food hadn't gone to waste.

Last call... she saw some people milling about now, making their way to the caravan and in between the wagons. There was still time to back out, something deep inside informed her. Lilian stared at the caravan, her eyes searching the area. When she found what seemed to be the lead wagon, large and rough looking, she steeled herself and headed for it. To report in, or see what she could help with, or something. She hoped for some kind of busywork to keep from slipping too far into her thoughts.

Lawrick yawned as he marched through the empty streets, his calloused feet scampering softly on the wet, cobbled stone. It was a rather somber morning for the Halfling, although not for reasons one would expect. It was true that the small folk were quite connected to their communities, especially in times like these where it was considered suicide to march out of civilization. Rare is the story of the Halfling hero, having long since past. Better they stay together in their little hovels, living these final nights together as family.

To Lawrick, however, he was more upset that the rain made it harder for him to light his pipe. Unlike his brothers and sisters, he was not one to rely too much on others, at least in a more conventional sense. Rather, he had always taken advantage of the goodwill of his kin, having "convinced" the lot of them to take part in his various schemes and plans. Had he not been a Goodbiscuit, it was likely he'd have been exiled from Gladharrow, his community.

Given the situation he was in, he was basically kicked out as is.

"How hard could it be? Unlike those sourpusses, I've got the recipes all here." Lawrick patted his satchel, mumbling to himself as he muscled through the rain. As soon as word came that Granny was losing her mind, Lawrick was fast on the draw, having been one of the first of her grandchildren to show up and take care of her ailing mind. Of course, this was all a ruse to get closer to her, to use her descending madness as a way of getting her to see him as the favorite grandchild.

As far as things were certain, it ended up working, and Lawrick lived as a modest king for the next few months. Of course, he would have lived comfortably for longer had he not gambled much of his family's fortune away. It seems that even Halflings run out of luck, sometimes. It's because of this that Lawrick was ostracized by his own family, and why he had chosen to undertake such a treacherous journey into the wilds... Not that it mattered to him, anyway. To Lawrick, it was another scheme, after all, butat the very least, it's also a form of atonement. It was a much more honest way of making money than his usual forms of shady business, and it was also restoring the good name of the Goodbiscuits.

"Maybe I should have actually read those recipes and bought a few batches of ingredients before we hit the roads, huh?"

Staring at his satchel for a brief moment, Lawrick laughed off such an idea in the end.

"Nah, I'm all set! How hard could it be to make biscuits out of whatever we find, anyway?"

"Aye," another small man answered, having just come out onto the street alongside the Halfling.

"There will surely be much time for building, sooner or later, and if there isn't we'll probably be dead and it will be someone else's problem."

The Halfling said this without any trace of melancholy, it was a simple truth. There either would or would not be time to build. One did not build a city expecting all things to fall apart. You need optimism, persistent optimism, even in the face of a swift violent death. Particularly now.

Thiago patted himself down absent mindedly as he made to catch up with the other Halfling, ensuring that while he quickened his step he didn't lose one of his tools. That would be the very last thing he needed. There would be no New Sauerabfel without his tools.

"I am called Thiago," he said to the other, placing his hand lightly on his shoulder, "A builder from Sauerabfel, in better times. Today another hopeful traveler. Perhaps when things are more stable we make you a bakery yes? Fresh warm biscuits can quickly make a house a home."