The sun is reaching his zenith. It's warmth spreading across the land, heating up the sand, making the journey for the Outcasts even harder. The caravan slowly trudges through the sand, only going as fast as the slowest Yunik*. Along the long line of people, the few sand skiffs*2 the Outcasts possess, patrol the sides, making sure the vulnerable group isn't attacked.
Among the many various races and people are a couple of individuals called the Dwellers. These individuals were carefully picked to delve into the Old Cities and risk their lives to find stuff from the Old World so the Tribe could survive.
Somewhere at the back of the line, with some of the slower Yuniks and people, we find two of these Dwellers. An Aylvs and a human. People tend to ignore them in fear of the Aylvs' reputation. Even though the Outcasts all need to work together, old wounds bury deep. And thus these two are left to their own devices, not bothered and simply left alone with their own Yunik... which appears to be limping.
If one would move a bit forward, one would arrive at a small sea of green. Goblins and orcs tend to stick together, as they are the only ones who can stand each others smell. Among this merry bunch walks Fizz. He seems to be having a conversation with one of his 'mates'. "Awh come on man. You promised me to give me a part of the haul you brought back for that thing I did for you! Don't back out now!" he says with a high pitched voice, goblins are so well known for. An orc looks over his shoulder in confusion at the two, but can't be bothered too start a conversation with the tiny beings.
Leaving the sea of green behind, we move on to a hairy bunch. The dwarfs also like to tend to themselves. Although travelling is never easy for them with the large amounts of hair they need to carry along, it is always a festive mood in their ranks. What little booze they have disappears fast in their mouths. Unfortunately, the dwarf called Brimar the Bloodied has to miss this, as it was his task to man the east flank sand skiff today. He sees a dwarf raising a glass at him as the skiff roars past the group of dwarfs. His co-driver, an elf (some cruel joke from the tribe leaders probably), bumps your shoulder and yells to come above the roaring sound of the motor. "Stop getting distracted you fool! You need to keep your eyes open for dangers. If the caravan get's ambushed it's your fault for not paying attention!" Without waiting for an answer the elf turns his attention to the empty wastes at his side of the skiff, leaving the dwarf to his own thoughts.
At the head of the caravan the races begin to intertwine a bit more. Humans walking next to elves and halfings next to ratlings. One human in particular really likes to talk aloud. This time a brown haired woman was his target. Both were Dwellers, but were never send out together. Yet the male still couldn't stop boasting about his many accomplishments, obviously trying to impress the woman.
And so, the caravan slowly made it's way towards it's destination: A rock arch formation in the far distance. A small speck on the horizon. So far to go and the sand slowly starting to get warmer and warmer...
Among the many various races and people are a couple of individuals called the Dwellers. These individuals were carefully picked to delve into the Old Cities and risk their lives to find stuff from the Old World so the Tribe could survive.
Somewhere at the back of the line, with some of the slower Yuniks and people, we find two of these Dwellers. An Aylvs and a human. People tend to ignore them in fear of the Aylvs' reputation. Even though the Outcasts all need to work together, old wounds bury deep. And thus these two are left to their own devices, not bothered and simply left alone with their own Yunik... which appears to be limping.
If one would move a bit forward, one would arrive at a small sea of green. Goblins and orcs tend to stick together, as they are the only ones who can stand each others smell. Among this merry bunch walks Fizz. He seems to be having a conversation with one of his 'mates'. "Awh come on man. You promised me to give me a part of the haul you brought back for that thing I did for you! Don't back out now!" he says with a high pitched voice, goblins are so well known for. An orc looks over his shoulder in confusion at the two, but can't be bothered too start a conversation with the tiny beings.
Leaving the sea of green behind, we move on to a hairy bunch. The dwarfs also like to tend to themselves. Although travelling is never easy for them with the large amounts of hair they need to carry along, it is always a festive mood in their ranks. What little booze they have disappears fast in their mouths. Unfortunately, the dwarf called Brimar the Bloodied has to miss this, as it was his task to man the east flank sand skiff today. He sees a dwarf raising a glass at him as the skiff roars past the group of dwarfs. His co-driver, an elf (some cruel joke from the tribe leaders probably), bumps your shoulder and yells to come above the roaring sound of the motor. "Stop getting distracted you fool! You need to keep your eyes open for dangers. If the caravan get's ambushed it's your fault for not paying attention!" Without waiting for an answer the elf turns his attention to the empty wastes at his side of the skiff, leaving the dwarf to his own thoughts.
At the head of the caravan the races begin to intertwine a bit more. Humans walking next to elves and halfings next to ratlings. One human in particular really likes to talk aloud. This time a brown haired woman was his target. Both were Dwellers, but were never send out together. Yet the male still couldn't stop boasting about his many accomplishments, obviously trying to impress the woman.
And so, the caravan slowly made it's way towards it's destination: A rock arch formation in the far distance. A small speck on the horizon. So far to go and the sand slowly starting to get warmer and warmer...
