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[b]NIGHTAL 2, 1372 DR
WEST OF SCARDALE TOWN
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A night as a guest for one of the most prominent men in Scardale was a welcome occurrence for a hotchpotch of wayfarers, mercenaries, and common brutes. The evening meal was nothing short of delectable and was served with more Arabellan Dry - the servants politely encouraging the visitors not to overindulge, which most avoided doing. The beds were soft and comfortable and every room had a fireplace that burned through the night keeping the cold away. A pleasant change for those accustomed to camping in the woods or sleeping in cheap, ratty inn beds. Throughout the night the guards kept close watch over the guest house and grounds and much to Lord Hastlon’s contentment there had been no sign of thieving efforts and nothing was missing come morning - the nobleman’s guests taking his words of warning close to mind it seemed. That and he imagined there were some among them who, while daring by nature, decided that filching trinkets from nightstands and drawers was not worth the trouble given what Hastlon had promised them. 

Early the next morning after a short breakfast everyone had as expected assembled again in the foyer where Lord Hastlon went over things a second time. The nineteen of them would set out together heading east in the direction of Scardale Town where they would be met just a few miles west of the city by one of Lord Hastlon’s agents. The agent would direct them to the nearby base camp that would be used for staging actions within the city. When asked who would the lead of everything Lord Hastlon revealed that a man named “Breck” was in charge of overseeing efforts in Scardale Town. “You will receive your orders and tasks from Breck, who will in turn send progress reports to me as necessary while I handle affairs here in relation to Scardale Town. Breck will also be the one whom pays you all your coin and keeps the camp supplied, just something to note.”

“All you must do,” Hastlon explained, “is get to the base camp together. And from there Breck will be your guiding and financing hand alike.” When asked by the Helmite woman why they should all travel together, as it would slow them down, the nobleman pointed out that the closer to Scardale Town one got the more dangerous the road became and that he had no interest in casualties before the band even reached their forward encampment. “Once you pass the crossing near Scarsdeep the surrounding woodland and hills are infested with brigands and other refuse that were run out of the capital by more powerful forces. A large, heavily armed group of which there are also magic casters will prove far more intimidating than a small group of four or five.” Lord Hastlon stated. It made sense of course.

The band left Lord Hastlon’s estate soon after, dispersing among the streets to avoid drawing heavy attention as they all moved toward the eastern gate of the city. The morning air was bitterly cold and a light snowfall added some cover as few of the commonfolk were out in the city streets. The sun was just peeking over the far horizon as all the hirelings reassembled outside the city gates where they met with a large supply wagon which would accompany them to the encampment - a parting bit of information that Virjas had shared as he had seen everyone out the gates of the Hastlon Estate. The wagon driver was one of Hastlon’s men and assured the group he would deal with any guard patrols or overly curious passerby’s. The fact of the matter was that Lord Hastlon was quite obviously interested in keeping things under wraps, which Iliskra and many of the others found themselves in a way appreciating - even if guarded. The point of query was just who the noble Hastlon was keeping out of the know when it came to this whole matter.

The journey out across the dale was not quite as arduous as many had expected. The snowfall had ceased not long after the small company and the supply wagon were beyond eyesight of Chandlerscross which helped visibility. The snow that covered the ground was wet however which had formed a slush along the road and more than once the wagon had gotten stuck forcing several of the hirelings to push it free from the icy mud. The air was bitingly cold but the wind had ceased late in the morning which had made the lingering chill more tolerable as the day passed. The large group had just passed the crossing near Scardsdeep - a trade post that had in recent years begun to grow into a sizable settlement, particularly after Scardale Town descended into chaos. With the capital lost Scarsdeep had become the closest settlement in the dale to the sea - along with being so near to Sembia - and the population swelled. A patrol had met the group on the western side of the Scarsdeep crossing, the wagon driver lying and telling the six men they were heading into Scarsdeep after the patrol leader warned them to avoid the eastern reaches of the dale. Once the patrol was out of sight the wagon and accompanying mercenaries pressed on ahead. It was mid afternoon by now and everyone was keeping their eyes out for the agent that was supposed to guide them to where Hastlon’s men were encamped.