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Message: <blockquote data-quote="GlassEye" data-source="post: 6302011" data-attributes="member: 40413">Mirra:”Weathersmith, Weathersmith, hmm?  I believe I heard tell of a Weathersmith back when I was a boy.  Exceptional painter; all the rage at the time in the courts of the Baronies for royal portraiture.  One of your clan?  Oh, and I may have some things in my inventory I could use a little professional assistance with.”When Mirra mentions the jewelry adorning his hat he rolls his eyes up and raises his brows as if he can catch a glimpse of the fish while it is still on his head.  He reaches up and touches it with the tips of his fingers.  ”My name, certainly.  It was a gift of a certain well-to-do lady…”Jyman Trout pauses and tilts his head listening for something over the rumble of his wagon and the jingle of his horse’s tack.  By this time the sun has nearly disappeared behind the hills and the thickening fog muffles the sounds of the forest.  The clop of a shoed horse sounds on the stone behind them though the fog makes it difficult to tell exactly how far behind the horsemen might be.”I’m afraid I’ve misjudged the distance yet to go to reach Castle Danyll and we’ve riders coming up behind.  It might be best if you hid along the side of the road.”A clatter of galloping hooves can be heard very near behind Trout’s cart.<img src="http://imageshack.com/a/img841/886/c53u.png" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />. . . . Jyman Trout . . . .Tsaaruk, Pirvinia, Samad, Garadh:Quillian looks tired and nods wearily at Pirvinia’s questions.  ”Garadh had a bout with fever last night but now that I’ve been able to regain my spells I can help him out a bit more than I could yesterday.”  The druid casts a pair of spells on Garadh.  The Lesser Restoration heals the damage the fever caused and the other seems to have been successful at delaying the effects of the disease.  ”That should hold until we find a healer tonight.”Brother Goswald’s estimate of the distance to Castle Danyll seems to be off somewhat as the group is still on the road as the sun drops below the horizon.  The fog rising up with the darkness muffles everything and leaves a strange sense of disconnection from the world.  With Goswald’s assurance that it isn’t much farther you continue on.As you travel past sunset the group hears the rumble of a cart or wagon though the fog makes it impossible to tell whether it is behind or ahead of you.  The sound seems to move along with you for a little while and then another sound grows louder by the moment; the clatter of galloping hooves coming up behind.A wild-eyed horse bursts out of the fog, blood flying from its wounded flanks.  Its fur-swathed rider sways in the saddle, a gleaming hatchet held in one hand.<img src="http://img713.imageshack.us/img713/716/w26c.png" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" />. . . Brother Goswald . . .</blockquote>

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