Several Weeks Previously
Despite it being late afternoon the sky was a dark grey, sheets of long rain cast the world with a watery glaze.
To the right of the road grassy slopes rolled down to the cliffs and the roiling seas, ahead was the winding muddy track that headed both south and west, to the left was bleak moorland.
The old soldier looked out from beneath the canopy of their wagon, they traveled the coast road due to turn south in 10 leagues.
It was a pain their destination lay to the south of Morpheus but the devastation of the city had warped the surrounding lands, he wanted to get them to safety before he found out the state of affairs.
He leaned out of the cover of the canopy and looked back at the grey silhouette of their dwarven companion Thalagrim Doomhammer, his pony sodden bringing up the rear.
The remainder of the group were huddled within the wagons fairly sturdy wooden walls his vexing halfling companions Niamh and Dunglebert and the source of his current woes, the Granddaughter of his old comrade in arms Phîran Malc, Genevieve.
However it was the news that Phîran had shared with him in the Tavern The Old Goat, news that the greatest of them The Holywarrior Scydd Silverblade had gone missing around the Obsidian Lake on the edge of the Morpheus Badlands, all of them owed a significant debt to Scydd, that troubled him.
Phîran had implored him to find out what had happened to their friend, he grunted, the surviving old soldiers had all retired settled down, he was the last wanderer, he stopped himself from being morbid.
His companions had jumped at the chance of adventure and song, oh to be so young again he chuckled, relighting his damp pipe.
Then Phîran had asked the most foolish of things that he allow his wayward Granddaughter to accompany them, she was versed with the blade and bow and had began to Delve.
He worried that left to her own devices she would get herself killed and that he had tried everything to dissuade her, Phîran had given him that grin "But its in the blood" he'd said proudly
So he had reluctantly relented and Genevieve had joined them, he chuckled loudly this time, remembering his surprise when he released that she was a half elf.
He winced as a wet snout and nose nuzzled his face "Oh Bracken gedoff" the Wolfhound bitch panted and considered the miserable weather.
Suddenly filled with good cheer despite the torrential rain he began to sing a deep booming marching hymn, a big smile crossed his face as Niamh and Dung joined in from the back, the funny thing was that they didn't know the words but as usual made them up as they went along.
In character tales.
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