"A good idea, young lady," the old man says, and willingly takes the horses and ties them to his wagon with surprisingly nimble fingers. He clucks to them, as Orshallan pushes, and with a few moments of effort, the surprisingly heavy wagon is back on the road. Just in time for the half-dozen bandits inside to burst out, swords at the ready.
*They move with practiced grace, obviously having done this often. There is no tripping over each other, and no stumbling coming out of the wagon. The bandits wear well-fitting chainmail, and carry excellent shortswords with skill and ease. The scabbards show signs of hard wear, and loaded crossbows hang at their belts. Elegant torques, necklaces, armbands, and earrings show these are prosperous bandits.*
*One is a blocky youth that resembles a farmer's tow-headed son in all ways but for the shadows in his eyes. Two others resemble your typical street toughs, greasy-haired sell-swords with hair of indeterminate color, lean muscles, one with a broken nose, the other with a scared cheek. The fourth is an elegant half-elf that carries himself with the arrogance of a highborn. The fifth had skin and hair the color of dust, and his thin face regards you with dead, dry eyes. The six has the look of pirate, with a muticolored sash, black hair, saucy grin with several golden teeth, and a black eyepatch over his left eye.*
"Hand over your valuables, coin, gems, jewelry, weapons, and armor, and be swift, my fine fellow travelers," the pirate demands with a rakish grin at both Orshallan and Loviana.
