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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Plane Sailing" data-source="post: 745509" data-attributes="member: 114">The green Griffon buzzed with activity, a crowd gathering round a table prominently placed before the entrance to the back room, hastily covered with carpet and scattered about with papers. Behind the table sat Mischa, Priest of Fharlanghn, right hand man and long time friend to Vladimar Rokan, merchant adventurer. Mischa looked irritable, testily urging people to back away from the table so he could see to write. ‘Name, trade and experience’ he called out, I don’t want your lineage or the deeds of your old uncle, I want to know about you, now stand back, you. Inside’. He gestured another of the applicants through the door behind him with his thumb. Two sturdy soldiers framed the portal, beyond which sat Vladimar himself, interviewing one by one, the motley assembly drawn by his invitation to join him on caravan across the plains.Two days pass, and the caravan is finally assembled. Five huge wagons each drawn by six thick muscled oxen, spare oxen for each, 20 mules, wagonners, mule hands, soldiers on horseback, a coffle of spare horses, and a slew of mercenaries form a tightly packed and steaming column in the narrow streets and cold morning air. At it’s head, Vladimar Rokan, frowning as ever but with a smile for the first time in days playing at the edge of his thin mouth. At last, with a wave and a cheer, the heavy caravan heaves into motion, oxen straining briefly before the slab sided wagons finally ease forward. With a great rumbling of wheels and clatter of hooves the train passes down the Street of Smells, across Vjel Square with it’s fine bronze of the hero and founder, out of the South gate and into the hills.Two days of travel is little enough time to break down the barriers between the company, the waggoners and muleteers keeping much to themselves while the more skilled hirelings ride on wagon top or horseback during the day. In the evenings, the circular laager has a more conducive environment for fraternisation. Katarn’s plaintive Elven songs and cavorting cheer all present, and even the sardonic Vladimar seems more at ease as he frets round the camp checking the wagons with their precious loads locked away, the keys jangling at his waist.Day three, mid morning and one of the soldier outriders gives a shout. Dismounting quickly from his horse he starts scraping at the ground. Dariol and Katarn ride swiftly up while Clint flips nimbly to the ground despite being 12 feet up on a wagon top, and darts into the mist that roils around them. It appears a trap has been laid, big enough that a wagon wheel would collapse through. ‘Ground sounded funny’ mutters the soldier. Vladimar arrives and inspects.Clint steals through the mist and spots an orc hiding behind a stunted bush. In a few seconds another appears and Clint observes their grunted conversation before they leave together. It seems their trap has been discovered and the ambush has been called off. He follows them silently until they stop in a hollow, waiting. Soon there are more until Clint counts 8 orcs and an ogre. Enough, he sneaks back to the caravan to report.Vladimar gazes down at the wheel trap now revealed beneath the thin soil covering. Yes, they can tackle the orcs as they like, he’ll lead the caravan further to the left and meet them later.The party sets off, Dariol and Clint in the lead. They pass through the hollow, and Fang takes up the scent, tracking the now moving orcs. Armour jingles as the party pound after the tireless wolf, and there’s no surprise on either side as they blunders into the orcs halfway up a slope and about 60 feet away.A hail of arrows meets the orcs as they turn, most aimed at the ogre and several striking true, but he stands firm and bellows an order. The orcs charge and battle is joined as the party spread out into a line to receive them. Fang and the eagle poise themselves to intercept anything that threatens Dariol. Clint ducks thankfully under the ogre’s mighty swing and his blade bites deep into the monster in return. The orcs’ charge is wild and they do little damage. Fang and the Eagle pounce forward to block a furious orc charging down on Dariol. Fang lives up to his name but the eagle is smashed to oblivion with one swing of a great axe. One sneaky fellow seems to be trying to outflank the party. Thing are looking desperate as the non-fighters contemplate toe-to-toe contact with these ferocious barbarians. Quick thinking and some swiftly cast sleep spells from Katarn and Drucilla suddenly take down a slew of orcs and the ogre! The tide has turned in seconds and the few shocked orcs that remain standing are quickly cut down. The weasel on the flank grunts in surprise and disappears into the mist as fast as his bow-legs can carry him.</blockquote>

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