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."
Carlyle