Lathander's glory rose over the skyline, bathing the hillside in a warm red light. The chirp of birds slowly grew louder as more awoke from their nightly rest, as did the bangs and clatters of armored men and women.
Your travels and adventures had lead you to the southern side of the Dalelands; much of your goods having been replaced since the departure from your men. Rumors trickled in through the trade route towns about events from Cormyr during the winter, along with the usual array of supply orders delivered over the Thunder Peaks by pigeon or, for the more capable merchants, magical message. Reports of the metropolis of Arabel falling to the orcish armies ailing the land, as well as tales of the city's lord, Myrmeen Lhal, single handedly leading band after band of mercenaries, rangers, and scouts in a successful battle to reclaim her city, despite the loss of her left arm. Of course your ears paid close attention to that particular rumor; a woman showing men how it was done.
Much of the communication from Cormyr this early was vast orders of supplies to help rebuild and bring Arabel back to it's former glory. Though amongst the rumors, there was news of a tournament being held within Cormyr's capital city of Suzail. Odd that such an event would find it's news being carried with the rest of this, but it was nonetheless and it caught your attention. That's why you're out here riding with the rest of the first caravan into Cormyr. It's a heavily armored caravan; various merchant houses' guards and soldiers protecting they own contributions to it till it looked like an army movement rather than a trade caravan. It is well known that the first few trips through Thunder Gap are the worst; orcs and goblins making a hard attempt to gain supplies after the harsh winter, and thus they are more than happy to have Bloodgaze's sword at hand.
As the procession began making it's way through the several mile long path through the mountains, the traditional sound of orcish wardrums met their ears as snarling figures rushed. And just as always, they attacked the first part of the caravan they saw; the heavily guarded front. The combination of steel, arrow, and blessings of Waukeen proved very effective as the orcs were laid low with very few losses. Chatter began making it's way through the caravan as a few seasoned members that had made the trek more than once commented on the decrease in orcish numbers. "Maybe dem dumb orcs finally learnt to stop tryin' sa 'ard," you hear one of the older men shout out with a laughter that quickly spread to his colleagues.
Finally, the caravan clears the Gap, leaving behind the distant thunder of the mountain range's name-earning storms for the eerie wailing fog that guarded this side of the Hullack Forest that continued on with seemingly no source, as it always had. Trade wagons brought to a halt and pulled into a tight cluster with the defenders circling as the procession made camp for the night. An overheard conversation of one of the house soldiers to a complaining mercenary told that the increased precautions was due to reports of orc forces scattered in all directions around Arabel after it's recapture.
As dawn broke, illuminating the Immerflow River with a warm greeting, the caravan resumed it's movement with little note other than some of the newer men on the trek being sleepless; the screams and wails carrying through the night fog keeping them on edge. Entering the Hullack Forest, the caravan's defenders spread more evenly through the procession, the men at the front spending a large portion of time clearing away the underbrush that had fallen on the path during the winter's snows. All was well until the caravan stumbled, or perhaps was stumbled upon, a small warband of orcs. Neither side appeared to be expecting the other and the orcs seemed to be wounded much in the caravan's favor. The orcs and hobgoblin were struck down with as much ease as their brethren in the Gap, but the cluster of six ogres proved far more costly, your own blade joining the struggle to bring them down. Thankfully your amulet kept the worst of your temper at bay and you only savagely tear into the ogres and none of those traveling with you. Nevertheless, it was clear to tell the men that witnessed it were intimidated and gave you a little bit wider berth the remainder of the trip.
As the caravan came to a halt, Sunset Hill earned it's name once again as the Sun slipped behind it. Making camp as they had before, fires were made once again to hold back the night's chill, though more this time thanks to the winds carrying over Wyvernwater Lake. A group of the men and few of men of faith that had accompanied the journey broke off to put to rest the bodies of their comrades that had been brought along since the attack earlier that day.
The next morning was slower coming together as some of the men were still mourning over their brothers-in-arms, but once again, they were moving toward Arabel. Crossing Masoner's Bridge, one of the men pointed out to you a path that lead to south called Immer Trail. He seemed to stress that it was a faster way to Suzail than continuing on to Arabel. As you finally agreed to his suggestion and turned your temperamental steed to follow the path, you heard the audible sigh of relief from the men that were around you.
Crossing Yeoman Bridge and coming to Immersea, you were making better time alone than with the caravan. Stopping for the noon-day meal, you encountered Wyvernspur and Thundersword house guards throughout the inn, as well as a few men dressed in finery that looked on you with contempt in the streets. The Five Fine Fish inn was the easiest to find for a meal considering it's reputation through Cormyr for great ale. Again, more rumors of the tournament being held in Suzail as well as a few men that were planning to partake in it. It was much of the talk amongst mercenaries, though the barkeep seemed to have his mind and speech more about the death of Cormyr's king.
Riding on towards Suzail, you encountered several patrols of Purple Dragons, Cormyr famous purple-plated army, along the road, but by twilight you managed to reach the capital city and find one of the inns near the royal buildings. Many people were headed to the inns in that area as the city seemed to have a buzz regarding the tournament. Half-built stockade styled structures had been constructed in one part of the city; banners hung declaring the tournament's opening date all throughout the city.
The Wayward Child was very crowded tonight despite it's impressive size. Tables occupied by men that either traveled together or had become quick friends shouted jokes and boasts between tankards, as the bar area was crowded with people, some of the skinnier framed being pushed aside as another thirsty mouth shouted for an ale. All walks of life seemed to have gathered, certainly all of the common races. A small barfight broke out on one side of the bar as a halfling decided to use his dagger to prod people out of his way to the bar. The conflict ended abruptly as a half-orc threw the halfling towards the bar and he nimbly landed on the counter, dropping down onto a stool with a smug grin. Another table broke out in angry shouts as apparently something disagreeable was said; a burly and scarred dwarf jerking a man across the table by his beard. But the fight was broke up quickly thanks to the pair of bouncers that rushed through the crowd to the table. "Save that for the tournament!", you heard one bouncer clearly shout.
Amidst all this chaos, the bartenders and waitresses were clearly tiring though it seems here, there was no talk of the King's death...
((Your private little RP stage for now. I better get a goddamn cookie for all of ^^^ that
Of course, feel free to add stuff that happened during the trip. And one comment about me not painting pretty enough pictures during the three day trip and there will be smiting of players!
))
Of course, feel free to add stuff that happened during the trip. And one comment about me not painting pretty enough pictures during the three day trip and there will be smiting of players! 
