May 10 (3 months ago)
Caravans travel the roads in a constant attempt to trade goods for survival. It is easy enough to get transport cheap enough if you can supply your own goods. Caravans are also a good way to hide. So many of you find yourselves at a small oases outpost as dark clouds gather overhead. Fearing a deadly lightning storm it is wise to seek cover. The animals are laid down in the lowest part of this small valley and secured, the wagons are chocked so as not to move in the hard winds, and many of the people have taken cover beneath them, using the hides and canvas as a makeshift barrier against the raging sands. A guard approaches you, head ducked against the biting sand and searing winds, “Do you have a place to take shelter? We have room if you’re traveling with the caravan, we’ll worry about cost later, you must get to cover”
If you choose to engage in this please describe your characters physical appearance as if a stranger were studying them, and respond as your character would to the guard
May 10 (3 months ago)
The midnight-scaled dragonborn turns her head towards his words, her powerful form rather slender when considering how muscular she is. Her deep purple eyes lock onto her fellow guard’s before she turns away once more. “Clearly I don’t, but I’m sure there are others that need to be helped first. After them, if there is still room, come speak to me again, and I’ll hunker down.” She leans against one of the wagons, facing away from the wind, feeling a bit uneasy, kicking up a bit of sand to distract herself as she idly waits.
May 11 (3 months ago)
The tall thin figure looked at the guard. He had just put on a Filter mask which served to cover up most of his face, but even through the swirling sand, the guard could still make out a few features. He had pale gold hair, bright blue eyes, and skin only slightly lighter than the sand around him.
“Your offer is appreciated, but I doubt there’ll be room for Cronk, so I have to decline.” Argo patted the dark red Crodlu beside him, then returned to making sure that his cart and its contents were secure.
May 11 (3 months ago)
Edited May 11 (3 months ago)
Rodericks short red hair is whipped by the pounding wind as he stands from his crouched position. The turbulent sands rustling off his scale mail, he nods in acknowledgment . His green eyes sharp and alert to his surroundings, he picks up his pack and slings it over a muscular shoulder and follows the guard. “I appreciate the offer and would be glad for the company” he says in a slight raspy voice
May 12 (3 months ago)
Edited July 27 (1 month ago)
“Wake up ya drunk lout,” the caravan leader yelled at Arlan, “We got a sandstorm on us and you are supposed to be doing your helping run this caravan, not sleeping and drinking in the back of a wagon the whole time.”
Arlan struggled his head up to acknowledge the caravaneer’s protests and waved him to return to his tasks. Slowly, he slid out of the wagon and into the biting sand, struggling to cover his face. “Damn, I better get to work before that lady blacklists me,” he muttered to himself, “like the last one did.” The young Half-Elf then searched around in his pack and fashioned himself a mask from some spare cloth. He donned his pack and made his way over to the guard, surveying the make shift camp that had been made.
“Well, looks like we are stuck until this blows over, perhaps we should make a more permanent camp when this storm lessens,” Arlan mentioned to the caravan master, “It looks like you got this all in hand without me awake, so I’m gonna get some water and try to clear my damn headache. Come get me if anything comes up.”
Eventually wandering into the outpost to hide from the storm, Arlan grabbed a waterskin on the way and chatted with a young maiden who was travelling with them.
Arlan Runewood, Half-Elf Ardent extraordinaire. Arlan is a Half-Elf in his mid 20’s. He is a tall, slender man, with lightly tanned skin and light brown hair and eyes. Originally from a prominent Tyrian noble house, he is the Half-Elf illegitimate son of the houses matriarch. His father is an elf from another Balican Patrician house of Wavir, who secretly is the love of his mother, but can not marry due to losing her house and name per the law, not to mention the fact that his father is already married in a loveless political marraige between houses in Balic. Both his families specialize in trade and working of metals and regularly establishes trades between Tyr and Balic, but also other cities as well. He grew up with the best teachers and instructors and showed great promise to become the next leader of his house. As he grew up he became hot headed and restless, becoming obsessed with chasing woman and alcohol rather than continuing his families legacy and after an incident with one of King Tithian’s daughters, his mother banished him from the city until he had learned his lesson and could return to lead the house. She banished him with only the cloths on his back and his matched mithril rapier and parrying dagger, which were inscribed with the family’s seal. Thus began his long trek across the desert serving as a mercenary, caravan master, or escort for wealthy ladies. Unable to stay in one place at a time, he has been thrown out of any respectable place after a time.
May 13 (3 months ago)
Edited May 13 (3 months ago)
The Caravan Master shakes his head as Arlan walks away, “Lazy scrap.” He mutters before continuing his work securing the camp. As the guards and Caravan Master finish gathering the stragglers and setting the hides about to guard them from the whipping sands the sky begins to shout with thunder, turning bright as lines of lightning spear across the pitch night. Heading for the safety of his own shelter he sees the Dragonborn hunkered against the side of a wagon and the Eladrin male with his pet tucked as best as they can be in their smaller cart. “Oy” he calls out to both of them, “Tie your cart to my wagon, I’ve a Sand Tent we can pitch over it and share the space until the storm passes.”
With the rest of the group huddled under wagons and beneath hides the Wagon Master hurries to tie off the cart and get the two Travelers and the mount to relative safety.
As soon as the tent flaps are tied and secured a peel of thunder startles the caravan; so loud was the blast that it shook the ground. Shortly after a screech was heard, but not one of fear or pain, but of joy.
The repetitive sound of sand on hide hid the constant drone of the newly falling rain. Not the heavy, hot mist that usually fell over the Barren Plains of Athas, but actual drops of cool, sweet water.
The rain washed the sand away as it fell softly at first, then harder. The people raced to gather any vessel they could find to store this gift from the skies.
It wasn’t long before the gentle rain became a down pour. Lightning flashing across the sky so quickly it looked as if Mages fought in a death battle. Water caused the sand to turn to mud, the rock to become slick, and the silt to become a deadly sinking mire.
The joyous event had turned into another deadly menace in a world that had more than one could count.
Once again the people sought out shelter beneath their wagons, but water is persistent and the ground began to soak and run with tiny rivers of mud.
May 14 (3 months ago)
The dragonborn watches the problem progressively get worse, and realizes she needs to do something to try and help. She climbs out of the covered space and carefully makes her way across the slick ground to one of the other wagons which is starting to slip off of the safer rock and into the deadly silt pool. “Get your arses out here and help or you’ll die!” She shouts to be heard over the torrent, the guards inside scrambling out to safety. She grabs a corner of the thing, knowing all cargo is precious, and urges the guards at her side to help her, and with their aid, manages to bring the wagon all the way back onto the stable ground. She moves on to continue aiding as many as she can, heedless of nature’s fury and her own safety.
May 14 (3 months ago)
From out of one of the wagons a cloaked figure starts to walk out of the wagon as it starts to rain and the figure looks up at the odd wonder. As the figure looks up some can see that under the cloak and hood is a red skin chin and if the eyes of the cloak figure connected to you all you would see would be piercing yellow eyes. As the rain starts to get worst the cloaked figure starts to head for higher and dryer ground without paying mind to the others. When this happens the winds blow open the cloaked figure’s hood off and reveals the face of a red skinned man with two long curved horns on top of his head and the hair behind his horns are breaded into three ponytails, a main one and two little ones. On the way to better ground the tiefling does not help others but does allow cargo and other pass him if they were in a rush.
May 15 (3 months ago)
Coming to the same conclusion as the dragonborn, the youn eladrin knew he couldn’t just stand by. He considered coaxing his crodlu outside, its strength could be a great help, but he knew it would be too frightened.
Not that I can blame you Cronk, He thought to himself. I hate to admit it, but this thunder is scary!
Brooding upon his fears wasn’t going to solve anything, so after a brief moment of mental preparation, he forced himself to exit the tent. It took him a while to adjust to the weather. It’s hard to acclimatize when the wind threatens to pull you off your feet at any given second, but Argo plodded forward anyway, determined to help.
May 16 (3 months ago)
Roderick assesses the dragonborns efforts, realizing the danger of the shifting mud. He rushes to the aid of a man who lost his balance and is being pulled by the slick mud to a ever deepening mud pool. Roddy throws out his spike chain to anchor himself to a sturdy rock and grasps the man by his wrist and with effort pulls him to safety
“Next time you save me” Roderick jokes to the grateful merchen
May 18 (3 months ago)
Thunder grows louder as the lightning continues to strike the ground closer. You can feel the dispersing currents in the water, but know you are not yet in danger. As those that flee seek higher ground it doesn’t take long to realize the folly. Lightning flashes overhead and a bolt strikes the ground, two of the travelers drop, and slowly tumble down the rise, the rushing water pushing their now lifeless corpses into the muddy rocks. The rest of the running travelers duck down, unsure of where to go from here. The Caravan guard calls to them, pointing towards an outcropping near the oasis’ where they can find shelter in a shallow cave away from the sliding mud and pouring rain.
Hours pass as the storm rages, the oasis pond has raised and water laps at the edge of the shallow cave and is now filthy with muddy run off. As the rain slows and eventually ends the morning sun begins to rise and with it a humidity that is torturous and unrelenting. A heavy mist rises from the soaked land and envelopes the caravan, making it hard to take count of the losses. 3 of 8 wagons lay in ruin, 13 of the 34 people are dead, many more are wounded or in shock. Death from hypothermia, drowning, electrocution, and trampling. Only 4 of the animals survived, a couple seem to have run away or were washed down stream.
May 19 (3 months ago)
The scaly humanoid makes her way between the wounded, getting as many people back on their feet as possible, feeling heavy from the draining moist heat. She slips a bit as she crosses one of the wetter patches, tripping into one of the many humans, apologizing profusely. When she looks up, she realizes the person in front of her has some more elven characteristics. She almost asks him something, then shuts her maw. “All this rain… the hell did this happen? It was clear not a moment before it hit…” She scratches her head as she turns her gaze to the scorching sky, curious about the odd turn of events so far.
May 20 (3 months ago)
“We should look for useful supplies. With most of the livestock gone, we’re gonna need whatever we can find to make it outta here alive.” Roderick says with a touch of sadness in his voice “We should also gather the dead, they’re families need to know they’re not coming home.”
Roderick climbs down to a nearby upturned wagon and begins to rummage through it’s broken remnants, he finds a intact water skin with a merchants crest on it and sets it aside.
“I don’t lay claim to any of this, but we need to gather what we can” he says with a frown “also we need to help those who are hurt”
May 24 (3 months ago)
Edited May 24 (3 months ago)
“Arlan!” The Caravan Master shouts, looking for the drunkard he hired to manage the basic affairs. Unable to find the boy he hurries over to Roderick and starts grabbing the goods he’s finding in the overturned carts and arranging them on solid stone. The older, portly man is drenched, a mix of sweat and humidity. The survivors are busy burying the dead and tending the wounds of others. In this deadly world people know what is needed to keep surviving.
With only four surviving beasts they are able to pull two of the larger carts at a slow pace. Noone gets to ride any longer, as all needed space is used for trade goods, food and water. The latter being rationed as much of it has started to mold in the moist heat. Waterskins were filled after the storm from the buckets, pots, and barrels people left out when the rain had started. By late afternoon the caravan is ready to continue moving on.
The Caravan Master gently slaps Lilith on the back, thanking her for her part in saving the wagons during the storm, and asking her if she’ll take the lead wagon as her post, He’s worried in their tired and weakened state that they’ll be easily picked off and doesn’t want to lose anything more.
He positions everyone in the line, older or weaker between the two wagons, younger and hardier watching the back and flanks. Everyone is given bags to carry and set in a 3 person group that will share a waterskin. As the day finally starts to cool the caravan begins its northern trek again.
May 30 (2 months ago)
Edited May 30 (2 months ago)
The end of the 4th day approaches, the caravan has made camp among the soft grass and fresh water spring. Every age and gender has drank, bathed, and eaten fresh because of this amazing gift. As the caravan dozes off, and the watch takes its place, the natural beauty begins to fade once again back to rugged rock, dry cliff, and endless sand. The strange creatures that had appeared with the grass and waters lay dead among the rocks, their life fading with the dying grass. In the morning food is plentiful, furs are prepared much like the reptilian hides they’re used to, and camp is packed up by late morning. The caravan master worries, “Arlan. We won’t be able to explain these furs to the Urik guards. If the sorcerer-kings learn of this strange magic we may all be condemned. The group you’ve formed, take them, among yourselves, do as you will with them, but do not take them to the city.”
The Caravan master gives the pile of furs to Arlan, wrapped in canvas so as not to be obvious, “I will pay you once we see the city gates, but its best that you leave before we reach them. They will search us all.”
With those words he sets the Caravan in motion. With the laden carts, fresh bellies, and healed wounds, the caravan still moves slowly down the Kings Road, but with much less complaining and no extra resting stops. The fresh food will be gone before they reach the gates of Urik, but never have so many eaten so well in this barren landscape.
May 31 (2 months ago)
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As everybody started to move, Cronk lurched forward to keep pace with the caravan. From his crodlu pulled cart, Argo sat and watched as he nibbled on some of the fresh food, thinking about the events of the last week.
Twice in five days, the group had encountered places connected to Gods, and bandits had attacked both times. Also, there was a mark branded on the neck of at least one of the bandits, which had apparently executed him when his leader was killed. Argo was no expert, nor did he pretend to be, but he assumed the mark was far beyond the average bandit. They simply wouldn’t have the power or knowledge to pull it off, not without outside help. If bandits were responsible for the mark and knew about the significance of their ambush sites, they would be more of a threat than originally believed. There was also the possibility that the bandits were mere puppets, controlled by someone much more powerful and knowledgeable, possibly connected to the sorcerer kings.
Argo shrugged to himself. He probably was just being paranoid. After all, it would make sense for bandits to set up ambush in any strange place, to surprise curious travelers. And the mark was probably some simple slave thing, he was probably over-reacting. Besides, even if Argo’s worries were realized, he would not be alone. Apart from his late mentor Errol, he hadn’t thought of anybody as even an ally before, yet he considered the group he had fought alongside his friends.
May 31 (2 months ago)
Roderick walks to Arlan, “I couldn’t help but overhear, and he’s right. These furs and other trinkets we gathered from this place will draw alot of attention. I think we should cache these for the time being, I don’t want to see such things of beauty destroyed”
He looks in the direction of the caravan “I want to try and catch the Eladrin before he gets too far ahead, I think he still has a few furs in his cart. Also we should get our stories strait”
Roddy runs off after the crodlu cart before it gets too far ahead
June 01 (2 months ago)
Lilith walks a fair distance ahead of the rest of the caravan, and those who can still spot her would say she looked alert and such, and was maybe just wanting some space. But in reality, in her hands she held a worn journal, one not her own. She flipped through it, remembering seeing something in it years ago that she’d never believed, but there it was: a mad scribbling that said the gods were not dead. It was the last line left of a torn out page, and she had never thought anything true of it until the events of this week. She knew she needed answers, and knew where to find at least something, but that trip would have to wait. Their current destination held the hope of sure answers, and so she continued on, restless. She thought about her youth, and remembered having to learn to read and write. She never thought the old man had a reason, nor knew why he’d know how to do it himself, but learned eagerly, not wanting to displease the one that saved her. She stashes the book back into her bag, continuing on, smiling lightly as she walks towards the horizon ever onwards.
June 05 (2 months ago)
Though he thought he was overlooking something, Argo decided to put the mark and the bandits from his mind for the time being, as it would not help him to brood uselessly. Instead, he thought of the disk he had found. While it was obviously powerful and valuable, it would not be particularly useful to him, its healing abilities would probably help a Melee fighter much more. It didn’t take him long to decide who would benefit most, as the answer was coming to him, figuratively and literally.
Roderick caught up to the cart just as Argo managed to bring it to a halt. The warrior’s caution was not unfounded, Argo had clearly forgotten to hide the various furs, a oversight that was promptly corrected. Thanking Roderick, Argo took the opportunity to give him the Alora Sigil, which he knew would be a vaulable gift to the battle hardened warrior.
June 05 (2 months ago)
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“Thank you my friend, this is a great gift indeed” he says as he slips the disk into a inside hidden pocket. “I’m hoping we fight along side one another again, will you come join me and Arlan? I think we should discuss what our next move should be once we get to Urik Have you seen where the others went? I think we should all have a say in our next move.”
Spotting Tycho walking 50 yards ahead Roddy turns to Argo and says “I’ll try and gather the others, if you don’t mind going back to Arlan so we can figure out a plan.” Roderick trots off to catch up to the young warrior “Thank you again my friend! I shall make great use of this.” he says as he goes on ahead
June 16 (2 months ago)
The heat of the day weighs on you. Even as you make camp during mid day to rest in the Villa, you feel an exhausting pressure of heat. As you lay back and rest, using cots or bedrolls, a soft breeze brushes over your skin and cools you. Images of a lush paradise fill your dreams. Grass that reaches your knees, orchards of trees bearing rich fruit, and water running in ribbons across the land you can see tantalizes your mind. Whispers of wind and a warm gentle sun heat your skin, but not to the blistering level you’re used to. A large building of woven trees stands gracefully behind you. As you peer through the doorway you see dozens of beings chained by primal powers far beyond your understanding. Silent screams contort their faces as they try to reach out to you.
As you race to the doorway you are thrown back from the building and from your sleep. You awake startled but far cooled, only to realize it is well into night. You’ve slept for nearly 10 hours and feel fully rested. Beside each bedroll/cot is a wooden plate of fresh food and a goblet of cool mead.
June 18 (2 months ago)
Argo was a little surprised. He had been fully alert throughout the entire night. He had even stayed perfectly aware of his surrounding during the visions, and he still hadn’t noticed the plates of food appear in front of everyone. After his initial shock, he realized that was a good thing, as only the gods could have wrought something like that. So with that thought, he dug in.
Those visions had changed his perspective of the gods. Not of their powers, but of their numbers. Argo had assumed that their numbers, if they were ever great, would have dwindled to maybe a dozen at most. But no, there were apparently dozens of them. Dozens of gods. Argo’s eyes widened suddenly. He had come to a unpleasant realization, which he shared to the group as they ate.
“If there really are dozens of gods and one Sigil for each god, there are many Sigils we haven’t found yet. We may encounter one or two more before we reach our destination, but that still leaves dozens unaccounted for. Those dwarves were able to find one, so for all we know, they could be scattered across Athas! If I’m right, many more could already know. If we are to get to our destination without interference, we can no longer afford to delay.”
July 02 (1 month ago)
Edited July 02 (1 month ago)
The temple you’ve reached is a pure white stone that shines against the sun, tiny star-like flecks glint and sparkle as you move. The dark wood of the door causes the bright metal inlays to stand out brightly. The fading light causes a ripple of color to shimmer down the walls in waves. Just as the sun sets you see, for just a moment, the silohettes of dozens of beings. Only 3 stand out, bright and alive against the shimmering waves and shadows of the others. When the sun sets completely the images vanish and your fire grows in strength. You notice as you fall to sleep is the shadows around you darken, your camp is bright and warm, but you are certain there is a curtain of darkness hiding your camp from unfriendly eyes.
July 03 (1 month ago)
Lilith gasps sharply as she suddenly sits up, looking around herself in a panic before realizing she had just awoken from a nightmare, most likely. Sighing lightly, she got up, stretching a bit, getting herself ready for the next day quietly, knowing she wasn’t going to be able to get any more sleep that night. She made her way back to the temple doors, nodding her head towards the person(s) on charge, softly saying she’d be waiting at the doors until everyone else awoke. As she reached the temple entrance, she sat cross-legged on the ground, relaxing herself, her light breathing the only thing she could hear in the still night air as she began to let her mind roam, thoughts of the gods taking up most of her focus.
July 10 (1 month ago)
As Roderick drifts to sleep his dreams are horrific.
He’s taken back to the battlefield he tries to forget, back to being surrounded by fallen friend and enemy alike. The feeling of other beings blood soaking through his armor, the fresh screams and dying breaths of his victims still reverberating in his ears.
He feels his chest burning as he realizes he’s still holding his breath, gasping for air he can taste the blood in the air. Still gripping his sword he lets it fall never to be picked up again. His hand grips at the semi-fresh hole in his side, blood still flowing steadily from it.
The last time he was here, dozens died by his hand. Waking up behind enemy lines with a fresh wound and surrounded by your dead comrades brings out things in a man that can never be let go. Cutting his way through the enemy wasn’t difficult, each realized the other was dead as he made his way through them.
Vengeance and justice was all Roddy wanted for his fellow legionnaires, and he had it.
A cruel thunderous laugh pierces the memory, belonging to a voice Roderick never heard before. A voice that wasn’t there those many years ago.
What glorious carnage you bring, we shall make such beautiful death with one another!
Roderick turns to see a towering white haired pale man drenched in shadow looming over him, the darkness flowing from him like a a crushing wave.
As the rushing dark consumes him Roderick jolts awake, sweat flowing from every pore. His heart is pounding. His breathing heavy.
“Not again, I can’t let that out again.” he pants
July 21 (1 month ago)
Collapsing after the day of hard travel Roderick’s dreams that night are filled with visions of lush fields of green that stretch on to the horizon. Gentile breezes make the grass and leaves dance as they move across the plane. The twin suns shine bright against a nearly cloudless sky.
Beautiful flowering bushes of purple and bright orange release a smell of sweet intoxicating vapor in the air. Ripe fruit shines with a brilliance never seen by his eyes, a vibrant crimson violet and gold.
Tall powerful trees dot the landscape with their limbs covered in beautiful green leaves, wildlife racing to and fro in the hearty branches. Birds singing a song so beautiful, his heart fills with joy.
A natural spring runs throughout, ringing with the sound of the gentile flowing waters so clear and fresh.
The vision causes him to smile in his sleep as he hears a faint whisper that stirs him nearly awake.
Let us heal this land together, so all may live in such beauty
His night continues without interruption as he sleeps peacefully for the first time in a while.
When he wakes to take the dawns watch he daydreams of the world of his dreams.
“One day……” he says to himself as he watches the suns come up
July 22 (1 month ago)
Edited July 22 (1 month ago)
The grueling day of travelling through the silt storm finally over, Arlan settled down on the back of the cart and grabbed his flask of whiskey to take a drink of it. No, this is all too strange. He put the flask back and grabbed the other flask on his hip, containing the water from the fountain at the temple. He drank a sip of it, noting the small amount left. Good that should hold my cravings and sickness for now. It had been a tough day but, he was still trying to keep a clear head. This whole business with the gods had gotten his wanting clarity for once in his life. Luckily, that water from the temple had been helping with it, but it seemed to be losing potency as they traveled further from the temple. He took another sip and stood up to see Salesta setting up her tent at the edge of the camp.
Arlan wandered over to her and watched for a second as she struggled to set up the tent with how tired they all were. Approaching her and beginning to help with the poles, he said, “Here, I’ll give you some help with that tent.” With his help the tent was quickly erected and the young Half-Elf man invited her to join him in eating dinner on the back of the cart. As they sat there, he noted constellation in the stars to her and the ones he used when he led caravans to keep them on track. They were near the kings road, ahead of schedule.
Once they finished the meal, Salesta grabbed her bed roll and wandered to her tent. As she walked into it, Alran followed her in carrying one of the nice cots they had found either in their journeys. “This hard packed ground will be rough with that bed roll,” Arlan said slyly, “You would do well to get a good nights rest after a day like that. Perhaps you could try out my cot? It is quite comfortable. Not to mention I could give you a lesson in one of Elia’s rituals, so you may understand our quest…”
She raises a brow and smiles, “I could use some new company…my band is mostly related…and therefore untouchable.”
As dawn broke, Arlan emerged from the tent and grabbed breakfast for both Salesta and himself. Looking over, the Half-Elf spots Roderick, watching the sun rise. Wandering over to Roderick, he says, “Beautiful isn’t it. I have a good feeling about today.” Noticing his lack of clothes, Alran continues, “but perhaps I should get ready for it. Lets set out in…” He looks to the tent, contemplating, “forty-five minutes. Yeah that should be enough time.” At that he wanders back into the tent. Today was a good day already.
July 22 (1 month ago)
Roderick eyes Arlan with a smile. Arlan reminds him of himself in his younger days, he then chuckles loudly to himself.
“Goddess of fertility.” he mutters to himself. “I hope she’s prepared for atleast twins”
He then laughs a deep laugh, shakes his head and walks around the perimeter of camp wondering if the day will be as hot and windy as it’s been.
He stops cold when he notices on the ground, a small gold and red apple laying at his feet. He smiles widely, it’s a great day already.
July 24 (1 month ago)
Normally, Argo would have laughed along with Roderick, but he still didn’t know what to think. Arlan’s rampaging emotions had washed over the group that night, just like when he was drunk. Because the rest had been sleeping, they would have just had happier dreams. Unfortunately for Argo…
He shuddered slightly as the memory returned unwillingly, then continued to make sure Cronk and ‘The Lever’ were ready for the days travel. Partially to distract himself from the all too vivid memory of previous night, partially to make sure the silt storm hadn’t done any lasting harm.
A different topic to think about! Score!
That Silt Storm. That was one of the scariest moments of his life. There were at least six separate times where he thought the cart was about to fall over sideways, and he had never been more scared for Cronk in his entire life. Maybe if they pooled their funds, they could get a Sand Skimmer, or something much larger than his cart. Something that could withstand a storm much easier. Something that could carry the whole group, including…
The memory of Arlan’s pleasure flashed unbidden into Argo’s mind again. He groaned involuntarily. This was a bad day already.